Dragon
by Clearly Clayr
Summary: Inside the mind and life of Draco Malfoy is very different than the Draco that Harry Potter faces at Hogwarts. Behind the secrets at home, is there something different about him? See it all through the eyes of Draco himself. Opened Doors
1. Family Ties

Chapter One

Yes, I can fathom quite well what you're thinking, if you are an unfortunate customary witch or wizard. _Draco Malfoy, that awfully prejudiced cowardly scum_. Yeah, I get that all the time; it never had any effect at all on me, but you should know that. You get used to it after you attend a bloody school with high-strung morons like Harry Potter.

I'll bet my Hand of Glory (which took a week of badgering my father into buying it for me), that there are many things you have never cared to notice about me. No one cares to look closer at me (save perhaps Pansy Parkinson), because the famous Harry Potter is currently gracing the world by breathing.

I'm second in my class in the academic field, only bested by that blasted mudblood, Hermione Granger. My father tells me that it is the ultimate shame to have a mudblood reigning over me in academics. In reply, I tell my father that I have a life; I don't study books every minute I waste space on this vile earth.

I can beat Potter in dueling; I _have_ outsmarted him twice. Back in my first year, I tricked him into thinking I would duel him in the trophy room, and then I alerted Filch. But Potter was a no-show. This either means he fell for the trick, or was too cowardly to show. Either way, I win. Or else Professor dratted Dumbledore had something to do with the fact that no trouble bestowed Saint Potter. I won't mention the second year dueling club incident; the whole school saw that anyway.

Of course, all the staff at this hellhole of a school fancies Potter as one would a god. Their will seems to vanish when the good Saint Potter commands, or even thinks about something he wants. Therefore, Potter has taken the third seed in the academic field, beneath Granger and I.

Only one staff member sees Potter for the good-for-nothing he actually is. The ruddy Gryffindors (and Ravenclaws... and Hufflepuffs...) claim he's biased against their respectable houses, because Slytherin is his resident house. That's rubbish; Gryffindor mistakes stupidity for courage, Ravenclaw boasts feigned intelligence (I haven't met an intelligent Ravenclaw yet), and Hufflepuff is dull of lazy duffers that are even more worthless than Gryffindor. All three of these rubbish houses hate the Slytherins as well, when we triumph over them, as we should.

I'm more intelligent than Potter, athletic, rich, and most certainly better looking, yet this oaf Potter is so acclaimed and famed for things he really did not do. A bit of blind luck occurred when he was a baby (father says his mudblood mother had something to do with it), and the only reason he survived First Year is due to help of his friends, and his blasted mudblood mother's last spell. How tragic that she died for him. You can feel my condolences.

Saint Potter (Okay, this—I admit—was a bit shocking) opened the Chamber of Secrets to do the Hero-Thing to save the pathetic Weasley girl, and was saved by some bird Dumbledore had, and that idiotic sorting hat. He's lucky that our waste of a headmaster fancies him. They've all fallen under Potter's trance.

Third year. Well, I just heard someone slipped up, and that Granger somehow stepped in to save the day yet again, letting Potter have all the fame and glory for escaping from the wrath of Sirius Black. Oh, woe. That stupid girl; Potter is lucky he has her for a friend, or he'd be dead and failing school.

Fourth year of education at Hogwarts brought forth the Triwizard Tournament, which glorified Potter the god even more. He somehow muse have hexed that thing into letting him sneak his name in, and I'll bet my broomstick Dumbledore tampered with it to get Potter as a Champion. Idiot Potter showed off against a big, slow dragon, misunderstood an underwater task and was rewarded, and was able to drag Cedric Diggory along on a friendly visit to Lord Voldemort's restoration party. The only good things Potter managed to do was help bring forth Voldemort and get Diggory killed.

And in fifth year, he uncovered scandal in the Ministry. Now, there is no security for my family. It's almost as if the Malfoys are on equal ground with every other wizarding family. Almost. If my father can elude time at Azkaban, we will be safe.

Now my summer's end impended closer, marking the start of my sixth year at Hogwarts (Sadly, no Durumstrang for me; mother would miss me at such a terrible distance away). Lord Voldemort had returned, and for the first time in my life, I felt as if I were really belonging.

I smirked to myself as I watched the pathetic house elf called Annu writhe in pain as she shut her hefty ears in the kitchen door. I had a daily ritual of House Elf Upsetting. It helped me let go the horrors of the night, and unwind for the start of a wonderful day. It was such a wonderful feeling to for once be the one in power.

As usual, father was not around to scold me and critique my schedule and set limits for me. I was glad he was gone; I would not have to look at that dreadful snake staff her carried about with him, as if he were the Minister of Magic himself. But Lucius Malfoy, who once held such a high position in the Ministry, governed the doings of his fifteen-year-old son, Draco. No one realized what really went on deep inside the walls of the Malfoy Mansion.

"Draco, darling!" called a soft soprano voice from nearby, echoing off the mansion walls. "What is the upset, dearest?" The voice asked again. I sighed, pushing thoughts of father from my mind, giving Annu a kick to boot. She scurried off, muttering. The voice was getting closer, and soon my mother, a tall, thin, blonde, blue-eyed, and worried woman, was standing in the doorframe, watching me closely as I knocked a china plate from the table onto the floor. It clattered noisily, and I grinned.

"Nothing's the matter, mum," I drawled lazily. "Just the usual morning activities. Nothing to worry about." My mother had a constant fear that something horrendous was going to happen to me one of these days in the comfort of our own home. Since I was her only spawn and pride, she constantly followed me around the house, and refused to let me attend an educating facility abroad. It was too far away; something could happen to her little Dragon.

"I was just… worried, Dragon," she said, forcing a smile at me. Dragon was her nickname for me; Draco meant Dragon. Mother adored Latin. "This is such a dangerous world, Dragon!" Tears welled up in her eyes and she swooped forward towards me in an ungraceful fashion, embracing me so tightly I could barely breathe.

There was a moment of silence, and I waited for the water works to flood. This happened daily; mother's crying spells. It was always a vague experience to me; she never said why she cried so much, just that I was her little Dragon and she didn't want to lose me. Instants later, I could feel tears splashing down in my silvery blonde hair, and I tried to pull away from my mother, who had a tight grip for someone so frail looking.

"Your father has poisoned your mind!" She bawled, releasing me from her noxious embrace. I took a deep breath to compensate for the ones I had missed while locked in her jaws of death. "You used to be such an innocent little boy! I can still recall the Draco that picked on the house elves. What ever happened to that Draco?"

"Trust me," I grinned, causing mother to force another terrible smile and wipe the tears from her watery blue eyes. "He's still here." To verify this, there was a loud clanking, undoubtedly caused by the house elves, in the pantry. "Nothing is going to happen to me, mother." I sighed as lazily as possible, to prove to Mother that I was not doing anything dangerous, or exciting. But apparently, mother was not done with her daily lecture. Just a few more weeks of this and I would have been ready to recite it in front on an audience.

"But with Voldemort—thank the heavens—back, that also means the Death Eaters return to power. And now, your father has too keep himself out of Azkaban." My mother looked around nervously, as if the walls were spying on her, and drew me in closer, to whisper in my ear, "Your father is gone." She drew away, looking as if a large steel plate had been lifted off her chest. "He can't hurt us now, but others can." She looked around again, as if overcome with paranoia. "The enemies of our family can get us, Dragon."

I sighed deeply, shrugging this off. Under my father's influence, no one dared to toil with our family. Mother must have been dwelling on the past experiences that had taken place before I was born, or when I was but a baby. I thought for a moment my mother would bequeath to me more information, but a thoughtful look crossed her face, then left with a painful expression planting itself on her long, thin face.

"Well, Dragon," She said, gingerly patting me on the shoulder as if I were an old friend of hers. "I have no argument with the beliefs of the Dark Lord and his followers, but Dragon, you're set to join them." She straightened up, and wiped the final tears from her cheeks, to look gravely at me with eyes that were tearless. "But they're dangerous. Dragon, don't join them! You'll get hurt. I don't want any harm to come to you. Let the others take in harm. You're a Malfoy. You don't deserve harm, baby."

She smiled and me, and slowly made her departure from the kitchen, stifling sobs and covering her face in her robes as she left. I rolled my eyes, and kicked the shards of china left from the shattered dish. Finding pleasure in this destruction, I jumped up and down upon them, releasing my anger. The house elves were quivering in their cupboard; I could hear them.

My mother was leaving sanity behind, aside from days when she needed to make public appearances. There she stood tall, Narcissa Malfoy, the fortunate wife of Lucius. Home was a completely different place for all of us. At school I hid my sorrow with anger and vengeance. Father was a control freak, and my mother was starting to feel his wrath.

Are these the Malfoys you so often heard about? You can't fathom the secrets we harbor here. All you see are villains. How typical. Really, I get tired of it. Tired of…everything. Perfect Potter, Superior Lucius… How can little Dragon ever live up to these people; one close, and the other not. Or is it that way? Are they both far away?


	2. Unhappy Birthday, Dragon

(A/N: I love you, reviewers. And I hope you like the newly edited version of this story!)

Chapter Two

My summer was spent in typical fashion that year, as it had always been before. Father returned during the night, waking mother and I up to shout drunken nothings at us, or inform us on the crucial situations that had him torn between work and the Dark Lord. It had come to the point where going to bed was not worth it; I waited up for father every night, sometimes into the dead of morning.

I found other ways to amuse myself besides tormenting house elves, such as Quidditch, tormenting Pansy Parkinson, and devising other ways to get Potter expelled. I would often daydream about the great utopia of life without Potter…and life without father. It was wildly fascinating to get lost in my own fantasies, wishing they were realities.

One particular night, which I thought was just as good as any other night, I stayed up into the wee hours awaiting the return of my father. It was then I glanced across the room at the large portrait of Lucius Malfoy hanging on the wall, observing my every move. It smirked at me just as father would have he been there at that very moment.

My eyes wandered from the portrait (which was shaking its snake staff at me threateningly) to the spot on the wall next to it, which held a calendar. The day was circled with red glittering ink. However, I could not read the slender script written across the 20th of August, so I extricated myself from my chair, and meandered across the room as casually as one possibly could with a giant portrait of one's father spying your each and every motion.

_Dragon's Birthday!_ read the note across August 20th. I smiled. In a few hours, it would be my birthday. At least mother remembered. But mother remembered everything there was to be remembered about me. She still recalled the names of all the pets I had as a child, my exact height in centimeters (which was odd, as I had never told her my height before), to what score I got on a Herbology Quiz back in First Year.

Even I had forgotten it was my birthday. Father reminded me that birthdays were not special if they happened to be your own. They just marked the day you left safety and entered the vile world of human beings. But ever since I was little I had become excited for my birthday. I was one step closer to becoming an adult and escaping the wrath that my father wreaked upon the mansion.

But it wasn't every day you turned sixteen! I had to smile, to the disgrace of the Lucius portrait, and hum the Happy Birthday song in my head. I knew that mother would make a great fuss tomorrow, but I had to bask well in the glory of turning fifteen in... five... four… three… two… one!"

"DRACO!" Boomed a voiced, and the door to the sitting room I had settled in burst open with a great flash of magic. Father was home. Instead of "Happy birthday, Dragon!" All he did was bellow my name loudly, to alert me of his supreme presence. "What are you doing, boy?"

"Waiting, father," I said, careful to look him in the eyes. "Waiting for you to come home." It was best to say as little as possible. A little voice in the back of my head screamed at me to tell him it was my birthday, to tell him I wanted him I cared; I didn't deserve to be told off for being useless.

"NARCISSA!" Father bellowed. He turned his cold gray eyes back to me uncertainly when my mother appeared before us, looking very unsightly with her blonde hair a rat's nest, and her dressing gown all wrinkled. Father wrinkled his long, pointed nose and looked down at my mother. "Inform me of the day's happenings." He commanded, waving his serpent staff at the two of us.

Mother instantly mumbled something that was inaudible to me. Obviously, father had not heard what she said, either. "What was that?" He shouted, waving the staff inches in front of mother's face. Mother pulled father away by the collar of his stylish black robes and whispered something to him again, peering nervously over at me.

"Pettigrew came for a visit?" Father asked mother loudly. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but instead rushed over to me and cupped her thin hands over my ears. I writhed away, not wishing to be left out of this conversation. Had I heard my father right? _Pettigrew_?

"Lucius, Dragon's here," said mother softly, reaching over for me. I scrambled away, over to a lone emerald chair in the sitting room, away from father and mother. "Dragon isn't supposed to know."

Father glared hard at mother, and drew back his staff, holding it high above his head. It came down hard upon mother's shoulder, and she gasped in pain, falling to her knees on the floor, looking up at my father for mercy. He showed her none, and silenced her with a final blow over the head. She had been knocked out; her chest silently rose and fell.

"Dragon?" My father hissed. He clearly thought I was too old to be called Dragon; quite frankly, I agreed with him. "You're sixteen now, boy," he hissed again, turning at me. "It was about time you knew what was really happening in this world." His eyes pressed into mine, trying to look into my soul to see if I could be trusted with secrets.

"You said Pettigrew, Father." I said, trying to prove my thirst for this new knowledge. "Didn't Sirius Black kill him years ago?" I shirked back at the look father gave me. I bumped against the wall, my shoulders hunched, expecting to be hit hard with the serpent staff.

Instead, father grinned. "My dear boy..." he started, trailing off and then beginning again. "How little you know of the world I escape to every night." He smirked. It was that awful smirk I had inherited; I knew exactly what it meant: trouble. "Black was innocent. Pettigrew, in fact, was the cowardly assistant of the Dark Lord, to whom we pay our tributes, Draco."

I stared. Black, innocent? Pettigrew, alive? This was all so odd! Ah, but then again, this is the Wizarding World (thank ye gods) where anything can happen. Father always knew what was right, and I trusted his opinion, even though he was a cruel man. I would have to grow up like he did, and raise my children in that same manner.

"Pettigrew gave an arm for the return of Lord Voldemort. And now, Black has fallen behind the mysterious veil," Father hissed, his face real close to mine now. "And Potter's blood was taken last summer. By a miracle I know not about, Potter escaped. It is our sworn duty as Death Eaters to assist Voldemort by any means to destroy Potter, for he blocks Voldemort's road to supreme power. And I'm no good to the Dark Lord in Azkaban. Well, not until the Dementors have been swayed…"

I nodded solemnly, understanding as well as I thought possible. "The Malfoy family requires a certain amount of respect to be able to accompany the Dark Lord in his doings. I am aware that you understand the mudbloods are poisoning our perfect world?"

"Of course, father," I nodded along, watching his staff closely.

"Then you will understand, Draco, why I am so harsh with you and Narcissa." He paused, and an unbearable smirk crossed his face. He was going to hit me next, to seal the deal. I should have known that; he believed his actions could be paid for with pain from my mother and I.

The head of the pointed serpent struck my thigh, and my hands shot to my injured leg to nurse it. Father thought nothing of this, and added a bloodied knuckle to my bodily injuries. I wiped by bloodied hand on my robes, and waited for the next blow. It hit me hard in the abdomen, where no one could see the scars. My stomach, in fact, was full of scars from being beaten. No one saw them; nothing incriminated father.

I moaned, feeling blood rising to my mouth. I slumped down the wall, and barely heard my father's cruel laughter. He kicked me lightly when I doubled over on the floor, spilling blood in various places on the hard tile floor. I hadn't been beaten this bad since.

"I care about this family. We need to be careful of our future." He left the room with a swish of dark robes, to leave me with my still unconscious mother. Deep in my heart, I felt bad for her. She had been diminished to a partially insane mess of a woman, and I, her son, did nothing about it. But what was there I could do? All I did was submissively let father take advantage of us both.

With difficulty, I managed to pull myself to my feet. I walked slowly over to mother, and made sure she was still alive. She was. I shifted her to a move comfortable position on the floor, and kissed her forehead.

"Goodnight, mother," I whispered.

With that, I climbed the marble steps. It was a trying task. Hurting all over, I finally reached the top, and looked down upon my spilled blood, and my unconscious mother. I turned back to the vast hallway that the stairs led to, manually picking the lock on a dusty un-kept door.

Inside there was nothing special to the naked eye, but to the mind the room held memories that most teenagers do not carry with them. The room was layered in dust, and broken glass littered the plain, carpeted floor. But the broken glass on the floor and ripped bed sheets wasn't the first thing that caught my attention; it never had been, never would be.

In the corner furthest the window, there were bloodstains on the once-white carpet. The room reeked of death.

"Happy birthday," I whispered softly, looking around the lifeless room. It looked as if the walls had once been a pastel pink. Outside the window, the full moon shone down upon me, casting the only source of light in the darkness that seemed to be engulfing me.

"Happy birthday." I heard the echo of my words. "Happy birthday, Draco."


	3. The Birthday Announcement

(A/N: This is getting very fun to write. But hang in with me, I have a plot, and it will get better!)  
  
Chapter Three  
  
I woke early in the morning with a horrible neck cramp, and fumbled around to find my soft pillow, only to discover it was nowhere around me. I gave a moan, and rolled over to open my eyes. I nearly screamed in fright.  
  
I was still inside the dusty quiet room, and he sun was shining dimly through the curtains, casting a greater source of light upon the terrifying place. I had fallen asleep there. If father found me, it would not be good..  
  
I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the pain that was burning into my body, and raced out the door, which was still open, just a crack. The hallways were empty, but the portraits on the walls were shaking their cruel, noble heads at me. Father hated this hallway; I think the reasons are from the past.  
  
I ambled down the stairs with help of the silver railing, past the sitting room, and into the kitchen for breakfast. I didn't quite make it. The pain got to me when I had nearly reached the large kitchen of my home. Not more than three seconds later, I was engulfed in mother's noxious embrace.  
  
"Dragon!" She cried, sitting me up against her. If I had been slightly more conscious of my surroundings, I would have noticed a large bruise of mother's face, as her eyes looked at me with concern. "Dragon, dear, what happened?" She gave me a hard shake to return me to consciousness.  
  
"Father." I muttered, trying to pull away from her. Mother splashed me with some cold water that had to have been magically enhanced, as I jumped quickly, and was suddenly awake and alert. "Last night."  
  
Mother sighed, and let me free. "Happy birthday, Dragon," she said as happily as possible, turning away. I strongly suspected she was fighting tears when I hoisted myself to my feet. "Clean yourself up." She said in a choked voice. "Your birthday party will be a three o' clock! You can't miss that!"  
  
I wasn't able to suffice a grin, despite my previous night of terror. My birthday parties were always full of surprises, depending on who decided to grace me with their presence. Crabbe and Goyle were constants; they didn't do anything except e at and fight, and could prove sometimes very funny. or quite the contrary, very boring.  
  
"I'll go get ready, mother." I told my poor mother, who seemed to be getting closer and closer to going off the deep end. She nodded, and as I slowly left the kitchen, I could hear sobbing. Maybe she was closer to the edge than I had imagined. Well, that was how all mothers must be.  
  
My room, thankfully, was on the second floor. It was a mass of green and silver wall hangings that bore the serpent of Slytherin. There was no doubt whatsoever what house I was in. The Sorting Hat had barely touched my head when it had shouted "Slytherin!" for the whole hall to hear.  
  
My room was large and circular, which meant my room occupied the north tower of our castle-like home. The ceiling seemed endless, and shot up to the sky above. The ceiling was glass, and the sun shone warm on my head of blonde hair, surely illuminating it, though it was nowhere near neat at the current moment.  
  
My bed had not been occupied the night before, so it was still neat and royal. The rich mahogany bed frame was draped with a dark emerald canopy with sheer gossamer curtains that could be draped. The bed sheets were matching emerald, and were fashioned of expensive silk. It was a very tempting thing, that bed. I wanted to fall over on it and sleep forever.  
  
But I had a party that would begin in an hour and a half. I must be presentable, or there would be consequences so serious I could not in a thousand years fathom them. I undressed myself, and avoided the mirror for good reason, and stepped into the hot bath that the house elves had prepared so graciously for me. Perhaps I would not beat them today..  
  
I washed my wounds with the special soap, and the pain had gone down a considerable deal by the time I was fully clothed. My robes were a rich dark blue for this party, which was a difference from the black of Hogwarts uniform, or my usual emerald ones that showed Slytherin spirit.  
  
I had to smile at my reflection. The blood had been wiped from my mouth, my white blonde hair was slicked back neatly, and I stood tall without a limp or a falter in my step. I looked just like I had before, and no longer felt pain (courtesy of Madam Marti's Painless Potion). It was a reflection that would send Pansy Parkinson into hysterics, though that did not take much.  
  
I strutted proudly down the stairs, and the bustling in the foyer immediately ceased when I entered the room gracefully. Applause echoed off the wall, and I could hear mother crying, "Happy birthday, Dragon!" somewhere in the masses. There was a pile of presents nearby with colored wrapping paper that was drawing me over towards it. It was a happy feeling; all these people were here to celebrate the anniversary of my fifteenth year in the world.  
  
I straightened my collar, and grinned, to take a bow. Everyone bustled even more. Now this was more like it. A "Happy Birthday Draco!" Banner hung from the ceiling, magically enhanced, and green and silver glitter fell from the vast depths of above.  
  
"Draco!" Squealed a very familiar voice from somewhere to my left. I tried to duck down behind Crabbe and Goyle, who were approaching at a rapid pace to dodge the speaker. "Happy birthday!"  
  
I was too slow. Before I could do anything, Pansy Parkinson, who was poised to kiss me when I managed to pull away and make a run for it, scooped me up. "Draco, I just wanted to say hello!" I heard her yell as I made my escape, followed by Crabbe and Goyle.  
  
"Say hello to Crabbe, you fat oaf!" I yelled back in reply, hoping dearly that this offended her. It was fairly easy to dodge in and out between members of the mass, being a small person. For Crabbe and Goyle, who followed me, it was not so easy. They simply ploughed over whoever stood in their way. It was all Crabbe and Goyle were good for, being large and threatening.  
  
I motioned for my cronies to follow me down the hallway to the more quiet reserved part of the house, which was at current moment the sitting room. "Butterbeer?" I asked, watching the perplexed faces of Crabbe and Goyle nod in uniform. Grinning, I reached into father's liquor cabinet, I decided that Crabbe and Goyle could use a touch of something stronger than Butterbeer, if the plot that came to my mind was to succeed.  
  
I filled their glasses half full with whiskey, and added some Butterbeer to the other half. Crabbe and Goyle's taste buds, being so used to every flavor of food in the world, would never know the difference in taste. I poured myself a mug of Butterbeer, and slumped into the couch across from the two hulking fifteen year olds that were squished together on the large emerald couch across from me.  
  
"We shall soon join the ranks of fifth year students at Hogwarts, that blasted school," I said smugly to Crabbe and Goyle. There was nothing like idiots like these two to boost your ego. They nodded stupidly, and sipped their drinks curiously. I fought the tempting urge to laugh, and smirked at them.  
  
"What shall bestow petty Potter this year?' I said, not quite sure why I was asking the perfect model figures of stupid ness this question. They nodded, downing their drinks without any words at all. Such friends I had for conversation. Life got very tedious with them, and I sometimes wished that even father were there to spice things up a bit.  
  
"Dear you hear about Potter?" I asked. This sent both the eyebrows straight into the air out of curiosity, as they set empty glasses on the table. "The way he had an encounter with Voldemort this summer? Dumbledore showed up to save his arse again, go figure." I realized that I was spitting. This often happened when I got angry.  
  
"Dragon!" Came my mother's voice. She popped her head in the sitting room, and looked quickly at the floor, then smiled at me. She was very composed right now, and the usual sneer had fixed itself on her face; this was how she was in public. "Your cousins are here to see you." She looked revolted at this. Crabbe and Goyle finally started to snigger about me being called Dragon, getting the joke a bit late.  
  
I motioned for Crabbe and Goyle to leave me alone with my relatives when I met up with them. They were truly embarrassing; mother's relatives. Crabbe and Goyle ambled off, bumping into things as I left the room, dragged off by the Social Mother to the large parlor.  
  
The parlor was a stylish room with a bar, comfortable white chairs, and a sleek silver and green marble floor, and three people sitting in the comfortable chairs. They were all tall, thin, blonde, and looked very bored and out of place, wearing red. Each radiated a look of hatred mixed with pleasure as I entered the room.  
  
"Happy birthday, Dragon." Said the tall woman, Aunt Nabila, mother's older sister. She had blue eyes and blonde hair like mother did, and even though she was a Faxon; she had been put into Gryffindor. That was why my father never associated with Aunt Nabila. To make matters worse, she had married a Ravenclaw man, who was called Roger Hagen. They had spawned two awful children named Fayre and Ralph, who was more commonly known as Rafe.  
  
Fayre, who was my age, gave me a look of utter disgust; she was in Gryffindor, and was among those who worshiped Harry Potter. Her long blonde hair was well kept, and she had the look of a Malfoy, and seemed like she would be worthy of Slytherin by looks, however her personality was completely opposite mine. Fayre had a liking for animals more than people, and she picked up stray animals left and right, filling their house (which I considered more of a barn), with the ruddy creatures.  
  
"Hello, cousin." She said to me, brandishing a silver package and thrusting it in my hands. "Happy fifteen, Dragon." She put a lot of emphasis on the word Dragon. It was all the same, as I called her "Fair Game" and would then curse her as one would a game animal. One could see the love we had for each other bouncing off the walls. That was sarcasm, by the way.  
  
Rafe was going too begin Hogwarts that year, and everyone expected him in Ravenclaw, as he was very intelligent to their standards. Just the sight of him with his little horn-rimmed glasses was as bad as talking to a mudblood. He had made friends with a half blood already. Just another reason for the Malfoy family to forget the Hagens.  
  
By the standards of most boys, Fayre was good looking, but I saw her as the mudblood-loving cousin that was a shame to be related to. Her blue eyes flashed as she poked the gift with her manicured finger, hinting that I should open it.  
  
I tugged the white string, and unfolded the silver paper around the box, not knowing what to expect this year. In previous years I had gotten owl droppings, canary feathers, and some sort of candy that looked as if it had been devised by those blasted Weasley twins.  
  
I lifted the lid, and Fayre grinned. Inside the box was a piece of paper that read, "Happy Birthday. I have a sense of humor. Maybe you should buy one of those." I picked up the piece of paper and crumpled into a ball to throw at Fayre. Beneath the paper was a pair of glasses styled to those of Harry Potter.  
  
"Well, put them on, Dragon!" She squealed, again emphasizing Dragon in her sentence. I threw the glasses at her as I did the wad of paper, and looked to mother for help. She merely laughed with her sister, as Rafe pushed his glasses further up his nose. Fayre smiled, and to my eternal shame, danced happily. "Got you again!"  
  
I sent to Fayre death wishes inside of my head. She always seemed to know I was thinking them, especially after I stormed out of the room with my blue robes flourishing behind me. I couldn't stand those people any longer, and didn't care if mother was shouting how rude I was or not. All I wanted to do was get away from those disgraces.  
  
"Well, Draco!" A melodious voice filled my ears. I didn't dare turn around, but that didn't matter to the speaker. "If it isn't the birthday boy himself!" The voice sounded slightly sarcastic, bored, and cruel. Just like the person speaking.  
  
In front of me was a beautiful girl slightly taller than I was. Her shining blonde hair was twisted up and piled high up on her head, twisted and braided into many elegant knots of the sort. Her two blue eyes were the color of the summer sky, making her look so innocent and sweet. She wore robes that matched her eyes, and were gossamer thin, with a plunging neckline. Her name was Celeste Maili, and she was one of those gorgeous creatures that was only too well aware of the effect she created upon men.  
  
I hated her.  
  
She was an awful sort of girl who preyed upon the male population, and decided that I should be her next target. But I hated her, and she knew that. We were both in the running for the most powerful Fifth Year Slytherin. So far, I was winning. She seemed to think that everyone would fall victim to her spells, and overrated me back in the first year.  
  
"Well, happy birthday," she said softly, starting to walk in a circle around me. There was a smirk on her face, and I returned it with my infamous smirk, and a glare. My father was good friends with the Maili family, and therefore was enticed greatly by Celeste, the youngest daughter. Father insisted that I get along with the evil called Celeste.  
  
"Why thank you ever so much, Celeste," I hissed. "How kind of you to put your abnormally overly perfected nose into my business to wish me a happy birthday. How kind of you to put on an act to pretend you're a real human."  
  
Celeste smiled. "Now, now, Draco!" She said, in a tone that my father often used. "Play nicely." Her smirk had gone from ear to ear, now. She stuck her nose in the air, as if I were something as petty as a mudblood. "Well, enjoy your birthday, Dragon," She laughed, like Fayre, emphasizing Dragon. Curses to mother for that nickname.  
  
I clenched my fists. I would get her at school, when I was far away from the ruling hand of father. Celeste gave a cheery wave, and went off, probably to find a more vulnerable subject to torture. I was left alone in the hallway now, or so I thought. No sooner than five seconds later, I was approached my Celeste's partner in crime, Kayta Petula.  
  
Kayta was Celeste's cousin, and they resembled each other greatly. Kayta left her silvery blonde hair to fall down past her shoulders, while her blue eyes sparkled behind wire-rimmed glasses, which had quite the opposite affect Rafe's did. They made Kayta look older and more sophisticated that she actually was.  
  
"Finally meet up with Celeste, did you now?" She asked in a greasy tone. "How cheery of you two lovebirds," she added evilly. She was just as bad as Celeste, and often hinted how we should band together, and produce a few supremely evil kids. I hated her, for that. I hated Celeste and her dratted cousin Kayta.  
  
"Go kiss Potter," I hissed. Kayta didn't seem too enthralled by this, so she stuck her pointed nose in the air and proceeded down the hallway after Celeste. Knowing that there would be more of these battles during school, I made my way back to the foyer to inspect my table full of gifts.  
  
There were many packages of all sorts, and I was particularly interested in was a long thin package that could only be a broomstick. I had to laugh at the memory of Potter and Company reading a similar package, and wondering what the hell it could be. sure takes brains to figure things like this out.  
  
After determining that the broomstick was probably a Firebolt, I shook a few packages, and opened the wrapping paper. Many my gifts were from Knockturn Alley, such as the odd device that looked as if it would mummify anything that came in contact with its interior.  
  
I was getting to the large packages when the cold voice of my father made me jump about a foot in the air. I quickly crawled forth from my concealed spot behind the table of presents addressed to myself. My father was standing in the middle of the room, encircled by the vast crowd of mostly light haired people, all standing at attention. He beckoned me forth.  
  
I smiled smugly, pretending to love my father as any teenage boy would. Father clapped his hand on my shoulder. "Today marks the fifteenth birthday of my son Draco," he said in a loud booming voice that made sure everyone heard; it was as if he were proud to have me as his son. "And it also marks," he added, drawing his voice to a mere whisper. It didn't matter how loud he spoke; everyone could hear his next words.  
  
"The day Lord Voldemort has shown the world his power."  
  
The room took a deep breath, but my father silenced them again. He grinned maliciously, taking his hand off my shoulder to gesture to the room.  
  
"There has been a mudblood killing."  
  
(A/N: That was a long one! Oh, suspense, for the few that might actually be reading my story. Please review! I'd love to hear your comments! Bon voyage!) 


	4. Shopping Adventures

(Oh, wasn't that suspenseful? Yes, I'm sure everyone that has been reading really didn't give a bloody rip, but oh well. I rather enjoy writing this! I hope you enjoy reading it!)  
  
Chapter Four  
  
Fifteen years ago, this would have been an announcement of little value. But fifteen years ago, Lord Voldemort had been in power for years. Now. now he was returning. This marked a significant turning point in the time we all lived in. The mudbloods, Muggles, and all who opposed the forces of the Dark Lord were unsafe. Lord Voldemort had let all know his wrath was fully returned.  
  
Now mudbloods, who possessed some sort of magical powers, had been wiped from the face of the earth. This was good news indeed. Especially for the pureblooded wizarding families that chose the correct associates.  
  
I could not suffice a smile, thinking of how good it would be to see Granger's face among the dead. But father had apparently not seen my wishes, as he continued on, "Perhaps you have heard of the Dubose and Her lair families?" He paused, and looked to me. I grinned. "They no longer. grace this world."  
  
There was more applause. Then, quite suddenly, something crossed my mind. Where were mother's dratted Gryffindor relatives? Where were the Hagens? They would surely turn us in for this sort of rally, those Dumbledore supporters. They were good for nothing, and surely mother had been smart enough to shoo them away?  
  
My cold blue-gray eyes scanned the crowd, looking for heads of blonde hair, glasses, or horrified expressions. With much relief, all heads of blonde hair I sighted belong to Celeste's family (which included Kayta's family as well; they were related, remember), and the Malfoy family. There were no horrified expressions, only expressions of delight and wonder.  
  
"Now," my father said softly. Everyone quieted down to hear him speak. "Tell no one what you support openly. Stealth is key, and remember: do the crime, serve the time, and if you squeal, there will be very little time left for you. I bid you all a pleasant day, and I wish my son Draco a happy birthday."  
  
Father waved curtly to the crowd, and apparated with a small pop. There was an instant buzz sent throughout the atmosphere; talk of Lord Voldemort. Everyone present knew he had returned, and Potter had escaped by the skin of his crooked teeth, but this was the first killing, besides Diggory. It was a nice feeling. I was willing to bet the "good" side of the world was in a panic. I felt very secure.  
  
Suddenly, opening presents didn't matter too much anymore.  
  
* * * *  
  
The day after my birthday, father took the family shopping, for school supplies and other necessities. Naturally, the first stop was Knockturn Alley. What were you expecting? Diagon Alley?  
  
We arrived via a flying carriage, as father had arranged for us. It was similar to the display Beauxbatons put on the previous year, entering for the Triwizard Tournament. Everyone oooohed and aaaaahhed, but for me, it was nothing short of normal. Well, I suppose when you live inferior lives without the luxury, even house elves may seem interesting. Perhaps Granger should be asked about that subject. Disgusting.  
  
I grinned, and steppe out of the carriage, which was sleek and black, with silver wheels, and serpents sculpted exquisitely for decorations. This being Knockturn Alley, few people stared. Most that visited this Alley were smart; siding with the dark side, or they were banshees, hags, or other oddly assorted scum that knew better than to stare, but showed their support for Lord Voldemort by means of inflicting pure terror.  
  
I noticed the streets were rather more crowded than usual, as in this area, it was much safer to purchase dark items, whereas years ago, you were bombarded by Ministry of Magic goons, demanding to know your wishes for the object you had purchased. One would think that security in Knockturn Alley would increase; yet the blokes at the Ministry have decided to draw their attention and efforts elsewhere, where they believe more help is needed.  
  
"Draco, go with your mother to Diagon Alley," father said. My mind replayed his sentence in my ears again. "I have business to attend to." He looked at me and shook his staff. "Narcissa, take him and buy his school supplies."  
  
My mother nodded, stuck her nose in the air, and tugged my sleeve. "Some other time, Draco," my father said as mother dragged me away. I sighed.  
  
"Yes, father."  
  
Mother ceased her grip on me as we neared the "good" part of the Wizarding World. Those who continually waged war with evil resided here, and delighted in shopping in boring shops, which help nothing more than books, robes, or broomsticks. How people could stay entertained with such items baffled me; the dark arts and potions were truly fascinating.  
  
"I'll get your necessaries," mother said, looking around Diagon Alley with a shot of malice. The people were so. common. "Browse around and see if there's anything else you'd like." She didn't give me a chance to tell her that there wasn't much that I wanted at Diagon Alley, as she turned and left quickly, carefully avoiding all people that looked guilty of siding with Dumbledore.  
  
I too did the same. Dearly wishing I could browse Knockturn Alley with father, I set off to the most decent shop in all of Diagon Alley: Quality Quidditch Supplies. Perhaps they would have a new model broom for father to purchase for the Slytherin Quidditch Team. Or if not, a seven Firebolts would do just as well. Then I would be more than a match for old Potty.  
  
As there always was, a crowd was circling around the shop, gazing in the window at the display. Being several heads shorter than the hulking masses that would never survive a ride on a broomstick, it was hard to see. "Move aside!" I commanded, pushing through. A few glares from the crowd made me grin. But the glares were nothing compared to the display in the window.  
  
There it was, sleek and shiny, mahogany wood gleaming perfectly as the dark wicker twigs were entirely untouched.. It was the Nimbus Millennium. "Faster than the Firebolt! Rides even smoother, glides perfectly!" Beamed the sales witch, who was a dumpy old lady whose bumpy nose suggested that perhaps she had had better days in her younger years.  
  
"Wow! Would ya lookit this, Harry!" I heard an all too familiar voice in the crowd say excitedly. Soon someone with red hair, shabby clothing, and loads of freckles had pushed his way up to the front of the crowd. "Oh." Added Ron Weasley, noticing me standing smugly near the window.  
  
"What are you looking for, Weasley?" I asked, stepping closer to the filth. I ignored father's warnings about mingling with commoners. "You could never afford a twig, even if you sold your whole house! Tut, tut. this will only make you yearn for the life you only dream of."  
  
"Leave him alone, Malfoy," said another voice that was sadly familiar. Here had come Saint Potter to yet again save Weasley's dirty neck. "Too bad they haven't got brains on sale; have you looked in the Apothecary yet?"  
  
I sneered at Potter, and replied, "What, Weasley bargain off his for money?" Ron Weasley lunged forward at me, apparently trying to make up for his lack of money with a brawl, but as I happened to be seeker for the Slytherin team, he was too slow to dodge me, and landed face first into the cobblestone street.  
  
"It isn't as if he's not used to being in the dirt," I laughed, before what I should have guessed happened. With a great lurch forward, I was face down on the street next to Weasley, feeling a throbbing pain in my jaw. Potter had right hooked me in the jaw. Thus, doing the only other thing I could think of, I drew my wand.  
  
"Discretus!" I shouted, as a flash of red light issued from the end of my wand, hitting Potter, making him cough, and fall to the ground. I picked myself up as he moaned, and his left leg started to run away without the rest of him. To my dismay, there was no blood at all; the curse was clean, and I strutted off (as quickly as possible) to find mother or father.  
  
There was such a bustle around Potter that no one cared that I was slipping off unharmed, except for the bruise on my jaw. Mother was finishing her purchase of my books in Flourish and Blotts, when I bounded over to her, grinning smugly. She noticed the bruise on my face, and tried rather unsuccessfully (in my opinion) to hide her concern.  
  
"Potter and Weasley," I said, to explain. Mother nodded. "Potter's leg has unfortunately run off with him at the moment, and Weasley is in the dirt where he belongs. Isn't that a shame?"  
  
Mother grinned, knowing that I had come off better at the end of that fight. "Your father will be waiting, Draco," she said, thankfully calling me by my rightful name. "Hurry along, there are mudbloods here." The shopkeeper stuck his nose in the air at us as we scuttled out of the bookstore. It was still a mystery how mother got her shopping done that fast. It seemed to me as if only five minutes had passed by.  
  
But time flies when you have fun.  
  
* * * *  
  
The summer's end came nearer and nearer, and I could not decide if I was glad or not to leave home for the school year. I would be void of father, yet enemies such as Potter would befall me at Hogwarts, as I was forced to attend classes with mudbloods and mudblood lovers.  
  
Nonetheless, despite my nitpicking and assertive talking, I was not transferred to Durumstrang. On September the First I found myself boarding the train with Crabbe and Goyle (still faithful, yet still idiotic cronies), finding a compartment to ourselves. I hoped that Pansy Parkinson, Celeste, Kayta, or any other annoying people that attended the school would not join us.  
  
No such luck.  
  
"Draco!" Came the squealing voice of Pansy Parkinson, who had a face to rival a pug. "I heard about your scuffle with Potter at Diagon Alley! His left leg ran away with him? You're a GENIUS! He shouldn't be famous, he can't even keep his body parts in line!"  
  
Though revolting as she was, I had to grin, and take in the attention. I had a plan for the train ride: lie low and avoid Potter. Potter would be more than keen for revenge upon me. I wasn't planning on getting my leg cursed off me, and until Potter had time to cool his jets I would keep to myself.  
  
Or not.  
  
It was in my nature to comment when something of interest was happening to Potter, who basked in his own feigned glory. The ones who deserved the attention, such as myself, were left in the dust. Even our own parents paid little attention to you, except let you sleep peacefully for a night because you caused harm to others.  
  
My plan for the train ride, of course did not work out. It just wouldn't be a train ride to Hogwarts if I didn't shake up Potter and company. How truly devastated they would be if I did not grace them with my presence. I was sure they were missing me, so I planned my entrance for about five minutes, then made my way off to the compartment where they so often were situated.  
  
Flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, I pulled open the glass door to the compartment door, and grinned at Potter as if I were meeting an old friend. He returned my smile with a livid glare. How homely he looked.  
  
"I do hope your limbs don't decide to. run away with you!" I said; Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly. I had told them all about the incident, of course. What else were grunts for? "Now, play nicely, Weasley," I added, as Ron rose, his face as red as his hair.  
  
"Stalk off, Malfoy," Hermione said acidly. Her bushy hair seemed to have gotten less bushy during the summer, and she had browned well, too. She looked somewhat like a normal witch now. But she reeked of mudblood.  
  
"And a mudblood like you's going to stop me?' I sneered. Potter, Weasley, and Granger all pulled their wands, and it was at that moment the ugly old witch who carried the snacks cart rolled into the compartment. This left the Dream Team in despair, as I strutted away.  
  
Weasley heaved a cauldron cake at me, but hit the glass door, which sent my minions into an uproar. I could tell this was going to be a better year than the previous ones already. My thoughts were of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, as I settled down smugly in my seat. If only we could get a decent one. We hadn't had one yet.  
  
(A/N: Tee hee, that one wasn't very angsty at all. It was rather light, and quite fun to write. That rhymed, heh. I'm in a hyper mood, so I'll stop typing now and beg fro reviews! Please review!) 


	5. Potter Strikes Back

(A/N: Thank you ever so much to those that have reviewed! It makes this poor little author happy! Just keep reading with me! Thank you!  
  
Thistle: Oops. about the broom, lol. Well, since I forgot about that part, you'll just have to wait, as I've instantly plotted it out in my brain. So wait and see! ( )  
  
Chapter Five  
  
The remainder of the train ride was rather serene, comparing to what could have happened. Crabbe and Goyle ate; Pansy seemed flustered, and there was talk of who the newest Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher would be. It bored me to tears thinking that we would perhaps be sentenced to a teacher such as Lockhart, Lupin, or Moody again.  
  
"I hope it's Snape," I said to all who would listen. "He's more than deserving of the job!" I hissed, as the compartment buzzed in agreement. "He's been denied the job for so long now! I should have spoken to father this summer about it. I daresay he could have used his influence to make it known that Professor Snape is a worthy contender."  
  
The rest of my rant was similar to that, and it seemed as if my group of Slytherins was riled up now, and I allowed myself a grin as I changed into my robes. Here at Hogwarts I had more power than I did at home. Father wasn't here to overrule me. mother wasn't here to fuss. I was ruling the roost all on my own.  
  
Not long after I was changed, throwing out my chest proudly (I had a Slytherin crest, and a shiny prefect badge), I quickly found a carriage, and was flanked by Crabbe and Goyle as we rode leisurely to the fortress that was Hogwarts. Through the stone gates that were topped with hideous winged boars was the school itself, massive and ancient.  
  
For once in the history of British weather, it was not raining. The sky was clear and black, and the stars glittered in the sky, as the moon glowed like the nightlight Crabbe kept by his bed, bouncing off my pale skin. If only I had fangs; I would make a very nice vampire. But where would I find blood pure enough to drink?  
  
Humorous thoughts such as the like filled my head as I strutted through the Great Hall, taking my common seat at the Slytherin table. Peeves was nowhere in sight, nor were any of the ghosts; it was odd not seeing them there. The teacher's table was occupied by the usual teachers, and to my dismay, there were no new faces.  
  
But seeing no new teacher could very well be a good thing. Perhaps Snape, after all, had gotten the job. His eyes were not filled with the usual malice, and in fact, he looked rather content with himself as I caught his eye and grinned. He did not grin back; it was just something Snape never did. He would grin when something bad happened; not something good.  
  
The Sorting was dull, and the new batch of Slytherins seemed just as good as the last batch we had received. Still, I clapped mildly, while Potter and company screamed enthusiastically for Gryffindors, and booed the new Slytherins under their breath. The Sorting was so incredibly boring that I could have sworn I had dozed off, because I could recall hardly anything about the new First Years.  
  
"Welcome to Hogwarts!" Professor Dumbledore said, as I was dragged back into reality. I did wish he would hurry on with his speech; I was dying of hunger. It was a surprising thing that Dumbledore only warned of the dangerous times, Filch's rules and punishments, and of the Forbidden Forest. "Let the feast begin!"  
  
"What?" I asked the most intelligent person within radius of me, who happened to be Celeste. "Did he say who the new teacher is?" I groaned internally as Celeste's pink lips formed a thin smile. I had asked the wrong person. Kayta was grinning beside her.  
  
"No one knows, Draco," she said in a would-be-friendly tone, but her eyes gave away the cruelty within her. She knew, and she was keeping it from me. "I suppose we shall find out tomorrow, shan't we? Like good schoolchildren, we shall." He voice was still smooth and pleasant, like music to my ears. But her eyes.  
  
"You don't know either, Celeste," I sneered, seeing the truth as her eyes lit up maliciously. Celeste's face fell, and she picked up her fork. She did this often, pretended she knew things that she didn't. It was one of her many flaws that I hated. "So keep quiet."  
  
Celeste hissed in low whispers to Kayta, obviously plotting their next plot to get me entangled in their webs. I knew better than to do a thing such as that. They were beautiful girls, sure, but they were truly awful, and I don't believe that I could suffice even a day with those beastly females.  
  
The rest of the feast was delicious, undoubtedly cooked by the house elves of Hogwarts. Granger, who had started some ridiculous program to "help" the elves, seemed even to be indulging in the feast with the rest of the students. I help up a chicken wing and nodded to her, grinning broadly. She stuck her mudblood nose in the air and muttered something to Potter, who sat next to her. Potter sprayed pumpkin juice all over Weasley, and pointed openly at me.  
  
I could only guess what they were pointing at: my shining prefect badge. Ah, they must have found it hard to believe. Why, I was a model student! How dare they accuse me of being not good enough to be a prefect! Naughty little Potter and Company!  
  
But it did not surprise me that each member of the Dream Team had a prefect badge as well. Granger, well, it was n wonder she did. But why did Potter and Weasley, the rule breaking kings, have a prefect badge? The Mudblood Lover must have been at it again. Dumbledore.  
  
While Potter and Weasley did the flat out rule breaking, I had a better theory at this mischief nonsense. The whole of Gryffindor broke rules, while Slytherin bent the rules. It was a beautiful thing to have Professor Snape as the head of house. Rules were so easily bent. it was a tempting thing to do.  
  
"Don't get too smug, Draco," father would have said at this moment. Well, father can die with the mudbloods. I stabbed my fork violently into my steak, letting my pale eyes light up insanely. It was just too bad Crabbe and Goyle didn't have enough emotions to understand what hatred had unearthed inside me.  
  
The feast ended as it always did: late. I patted my full stomach, and looked at the door. "Come on, Crabbe, Goyle," I said, waving my hand and motioning for the hulking masses of fifteen-year-old Crabbe and Goyle to follow. I felt so smug, comfortable, full.  
  
"They made you a prefect, Malfoy!?" Weasley called from behind me. "I didn't know you could get a badge just by being the ugliest git ever to walk the school! If I'd known that, I would have tried it ages ago!"  
  
I sneered. Why did Weasley bother going out of his way when he was so vulnerable? "I see they give out sympathy badges, as well, Weasley," I said, looking noticeably over to Snape, who was standing a few feet away. "You could perhaps pawn that off for a few sickles, and your family could eat for a week!"  
  
Potter drew his wand, and pointed it at me. "Is there a problem, boys?" A low voice echoed from behind. Snape had stepped in. It was all too perfect. No one would be stupid enough to do anything in front of a teacher, especially Professor Snape.  
  
"FACERUS!" Potter hissed, not paying the slightest bit of attention to Snape. The next moment was stunning. I had never guess that Potter would get me in front of a teacher. But, that wasn't the least of my worries. It was suddenly very hot.  
  
"I'm on fire!" I screamed, dropping to the floor and rolling furiously on the ground. The hot red-orange flames were burning into my skin, causing pain everywhere! It hurt so bad. consciousness was leaving. pain. hot. burn. black.  
  
The world spun around me, and I slipped into the nothingness of unconsciousness.  
  
* * * *  
  
"Get up, Mr. Malfoy, it's not as bad as it seems!"  
  
I groaned, and rolled up. My arms were wrapped in sheer gauze, and I no longer felt as if I were being burned. But I was stiff all over, and my neck ached, and not to mention the cold feeling all over.  
  
"You'll miss breakfast, Mister Malfoy!" Madam Pomfrey's voice again. This time she prodded me with a fluffy pillow. I rolled out of bed, and stood up. She put her hands on her hips and looked at me with what seemed utmost disgust. "You'll be red like this for about a week, but there's no serious damage done to you."  
  
Without warning, the bandages on my arms flew off, and I looked down at my arms. and I probably shouldn't have done it, either. They looked like red sausages, all swollen and hideous. I looked up at Madam Pomfrey, horrified. She laughed at me. "You haven't seen the worst of it yet!" She giggled, handing me a mirror.  
  
What I saw was probably the worst I had ever seen myself. My right eyebrow had been singed off, and my cheeks looked like they had been slapped over and over again. My hair had been burned a bit in the back, and even the mirror was snickering at my reflection.  
  
"Your eyebrow and hair will grow back in a few hours," Madam Pomfrey said, shooing me out of the room. I grabbed my hat quickly, and she shut the door. "Get to breakfast!" I shoved my heat on my head to cover my hair, and hoped the shadow would shade my face enough so that my eyebrow would not show.  
  
I trudged slowly down to breakfast, and avoided glances from everyone. Even Slytherins. It was embarrassing to have been hexed by Potter; I'm sure you could have understood if you were in my polished shoes at that moment. I had been fried to nearly a crisp, and I hoped that Potter would have serious consequences. But should I write to father?  
  
"That look is very becoming on you, Draco," Celeste put in at breakfast as I stabbed my sausages with such a passion that suggested it was part of Potter I was stabbing. "You look quite a lot like the food you're eating, did you know? Oh, and I love what you've done with your eyebrows. it'll be a trend!"  
  
"Quiet, Celeste," I hissed, looking at her. She looked even happier than usual at my downfall. "Or you'll look even worse." She smiled at me and shrugged. Kayta giggled beside her, and I looked down at my food again, stabbing it with a vicious passion.  
  
"We have Defense Against the Dark Arts first," said a fellow Slytherin fifth year named Charles Warrington. "I thought you'd like to know that. We still don't know who our Professor is, but we'll be the first class to find out! Maybe Snape is just keeping it a really good secret?"  
  
I shrugged. I wasn't in much of a mood to discuss anything of the present moment. All I wanted to do was plot my revenge on Potter. But then Warrington added something that caught my attention. "Snape tried to get Potter expelled, but Weasley said you were egging him on, so all McGonagall's done is given him detention until Christmas with Snape. I hope he doesn't get off too easily, and with Snape holding detentions, he surely won't."  
  
I would rather take a million detentions than be humiliated they way I had been the previous evening, and the way I looked currently. I shoved food into my mouth in fury, and stormed off to my dormitory to gather my schoolbag and books for the morning.  
  
Mornings looked relatively good, depending on Defense Against the Dark Arts. We also had Double Potions (A special delight), and Herbology, which was incredibly simple and we got to talking the whole class rather than listening to Sprout babble on about some stupid plants.  
  
I shoved my schedule in my bag and stalked off to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, avoiding the snickers of Potter, Granger, and Weasley, who were on their way to one of their classes. That was just the thing to make my morning. Being laughed at.  
  
"Let me through!" I said irritably, pushing my way through the crowd that had formed in front of the classroom. "Is the door locked?" As it turned out, the door was locked. I shook it for a little bit, before Kayta had to comment on my appearance.  
  
"I see your eyebrow has nearly grown totally back," she said. I ignored this. If we were working with something dangerous in Potions or Herbology I would get her and Celeste both. My temper was not to be tested. I shook the door handle again.  
  
"Come in," said a voice. The door opened by itself, and I stepped into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, gaping.  
  
* * * *  
  
(A/N: Suspense! Not that you all really care, or anything. But hey! Please review! It will make me happy, and then I will write more. after I go through all the other chapters and fix the errors! Have a good day!) 


	6. Defense Against Yourself

*I fixed all the periods in the middle of the sentence. For some reason, it won't let me put a trail of periods. Well, corrected! *  
  
(A/N: Well, I'll finally update now. I'm in the middle of correcting errors in other chapters as well. And I have my final tests scheduled for next week. Shall I study? No, I never study. Anyway, school gets out on May 21st, so after then, updates should be more frequent, unless perchance I go on a bad case of writer's block. Thank you to all who have reviewed! You guys are great *Wipes tears from eyes* I like your guesses on the new DADA teacher!)  
  
Chapter Six  
  
The sweet essence of a hearty meal filled the air, like the smell of a meal freshly cooked by house elves. There was another sweet smell in the air, and it was as if a slight purple mist had engulfed the entire classroom. My senses had been temporarily ensnared, and my eyes had focused on the teacher at the desk, whose legs were propped casually up on the desk.  
  
She was the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes upon.  
  
And she was a teacher. A teacher with long black hair, which shone against the feeble light of the classroom, but that didn't matter; her skin seemed to be giving off its own glow. From beneath the folds of hair that covered part of her faultless face, bright hazel green eyes peered out at the whole of Slytherin Fifth Year curiously.  
  
This alluring new professor let her legs slide down to the floor, then proceeded to stand up, and wave a graceful hand towards the desks that seemed so far off and distant. "You're perfectly welcome to sit your tired selves in a seat," she said softly, but so that all of us heard.  
  
My gaze finally left the new professor, and when I turned my head to the desks, I caught sight of Celeste looking at the woman in awe. After mustering a grin, I looked from Celeste to the desks, which were not at all like the desks I was used to.  
  
The hard wooden chairs were gone, and had been replaced with scarlet cushions that seemed to be make of silk, and fully equipped with armrests. On top of the desks, no room whatsoever was left for a book and quills to take notes with; the desks were filed with some of the most scrumptious looking food I had ever laid eyes upon.  
  
"Feast," said the teacher, smiling at us all. Without further ado, Crabbe and Goyle flew towards a desk each, and devoured what I recognized as their favorite foods; the plates were overflowing with what seemed to be ten servings of something from every group on the food pyramid.  
  
Even Celeste had found her way to a desk, where she sank in, and her blue eyes glazed over with a happiness I had never seen before in her. Kayta was on her left, while Pansy Parkinson flanked her right, piggish face scrunched in delight. Blaise Zabbini looked over to me and shrugged. We might as well join our classmates.  
  
I let my body sink into the soft cushions, as I looked up at the new Professor, who was still smiling smugly at me. I picked up a silver plated fork, which I had not noticed before (intricate designs of wild animals were carved into them. Perhaps I could pocket them and pawn them off for money.) and jabbed my steak with it. A sudden thought struck me, as everyone else was happily stuffing their faces with food.  
  
"Excuse me, Professor?" I asked quietly, raising my hand. No one else seemed to notice me; they were all absorbed in their own pleasures. The beautiful woman at the desk looked at me curiously, a small hint of a smile curling across her lips. "How can I be sure this food is first class and good enough for my gentle stomach?"  
  
"You may be able to judge by the happiness of your classmates, Mister Malfoy," she said. She turned her back, and waved her hand. For the first time, I noticed that she did not carry a wand. A piece of chalk scrawled something across the blackboard, but I had no chance to read it; the sudden wailing from my left side distracted me.  
  
Crabbe had turned into a wild boar, and judging by the popping noise from my right side, Goyle had turned into something similar. Not wasting time, I leaped up from my comfortable desk and ran to the front of the room. I faced the most stunning thing since being transfigured into a ferret by Professor Moody.  
  
Wild animals of all sorts were flying, running, growling, roaring, and fighting in the classroom, and I turned around wildly to the teacher, who was broadly grinning by this moment. She lifted a hand, which was encased in a sheer sleeve of deep blue silk, and pointed to the blackboard.  
  
BE CAREFUL WHOM YOU TRUST!  
  
"Have a seat, Mister Malfoy, and that will be twenty points to Slytherin for your precautionary tactics." She said, reaching forward to pat me on the back. I could feel my heart of stone and ice melting inside my chest. Another thought plagued me.  
  
"How do you know my name?" I asked, turning to face her again. "And who are you?"  
  
"Ah, I know more than you think I know, Mister Malfoy," She said. "Perhaps. yes-" she waved her hands together, and my classmates were found scattered across the room, sprawled on the floor, or handing from the ceiling. "If you will all take your seats, please!" Chirped the woman, flipping her dark hair behind her shoulders.  
  
I rounded on my heels and slumped back into my seat, which had gone hard, rigid, and wooden once again. The Professor gave the class a few minutes to situate, before flourishing her hand at the blackboard again. I noticed how tall she was, and the glow her skin gave seemed to have worn off amongst the chaotic mess that had been the Slytherin Fifth Years.  
  
"I am Professor Circe," she said, as the chalk wrote her name neatly across the board. A familiar picture flashed across my mind. She was on the Chocolate Frog cards! Circe! Why hadn't I recognized her straight away? "You may recognize me-" She paused and looked at me. "Or I may be a completely new face. However, my mission this year shall be to caution you against the alluring ways of the Dark Arts, perhaps the best defense one could ever muster."  
  
The class fell silent. Truthfully, none of us wanted to learn resistance to the Dark Forces; the Dark Forces were our past, present, and future. Professor Circe looked at us curiously, and judging by the intermittent light in her eyes, she knew the truth about us all. I fingered the strap on my bag absently as she impatiently wriggled her fingers against her side.  
  
"Or," she added, letting her eyes flash dangerously. "Defense against yourselves."  
  
The class was still silent, and it was an odd feeling; silence had never graced a room full of Slytherins. We were a rambunctious bunch, but there was something about Circe that kept us all in line. She had to be more than a witch. something more powerful, capable or destruction beyond anything fathomable. Muggles had tales of her island somewhere off the Greek Isles, and Muggles rarely heard of real witchcraft.  
  
I raised my hand feebly.  
  
"Professor, how can we be defended against ourselves?" I asked, trying to rid the eerie silence. "Say we have a perfectly stable mind. Your first lesson was to be weary of others, Professor," I said, trying to sound impressive. It was a failed try; I felt like an idiotic child asking how babies were made.  
  
Circe, however, had a new look of curiosity in her eyes. She casually walked over to my desk, and bent over so she was at eye level with me. "Mister Malfoy," she said, surveying me quickly. There was no other expression on her face now, other than the glint in her eyes. She looked as if she were about to criticize me, but simply whispered, "I know your father."  
  
She stood upright and looked out to the rest of the class, seeming to find each fame vaguely familiar. "Mister Malfoy," she added, looking again at me. "You are very out of touch with yourself." She said, no smile crossing her lips. "You could do well if you paid attention in this class."  
  
My ego took a blow at that moment, as I remembered my singed eyebrow and hair. How stupid I must have looked at that moment, without proper grooming and asking idiotic questions. I now knew the feeling of those I continually poked fun at, and how stupid they must feel when I humiliated them.  
  
"For your first assignment," Circe said, seating herself in her desk, and opening a very thick textbook. After thirty long seconds of examining it, she slammed it shut, and with a single wave of her hand it flew to its spot on the bookshelf. "I want you to compose for me two rolls of parchment with a detailed essay on your interests, and how you will prepare yourself for future tricks and the cons of evil."  
  
I groaned, and gripped my quill angrily; I was surprised it didn't break into two splintered pieces. Circe again propped her legs on top of her desk, and watched us all with vigilant eyes. The silence was broken by students all scrambling in their bags to get their parchment and quills to begin their essay of unnatural length. Two whole rolls!  
  
Perhaps I would not like this new Professor, I decided, quite over my instant liking to her looks. She was cruel and heartless. I shot her a nasty glare, and she looked ready to laugh, as she straightened the front of her azure robes. I longed for a class I could enjoy, such as Professor Snape's.  
  
* * * *  
  
Surprisingly, the rest of the day was much more pleasant. Double Potions was wonderful, as Snape was more vindictive towards Potter than I had ever seen him before. Granger was awarded a detention (a first!) for smarting off to him when he squared his grip on Longbottom.  
  
Only the Defense Against the Dark Arts class nagged at me, yet as I stretched myself out on an emerald couch in the Slytherin common room, I wasn't in the mood to even begin an essay on myself. Why did my personal life matter to Circe? Was it any of her business? Quite frankly, it was not.  
  
Crabbe and Goyle were, for nothing of a change, eating sweets they nicked from the dinner table on the couch in front of me, when I was suddenly struck by the strange notion of being alone. As my cronies were too absorbed in their snack, I was asked no questions as I led myself up the spiraling steps to the boys' dormitory.  
  
I flung myself on my bed, and immediately drifted into thought. What did Circe mean when she said I didn't know myself? She'd only just met me; how could she be the judge of what I knew or did not know? There was something decidedly strange about her, and the cruel part of my mind was wishing she had turned Potter into an ugly beast.  
  
My cursing of Circe was interrupted by something light and papery dropped on my face. It was a letter, and the large owl that had dropped it was fluttering out the window; birds didn't usually stick around the Slytherin Common Room.  
  
I bit my lip as I sat up, recognizing the tall thin writing that had hastily scrawled my name on the envelope. It was from father. I knew that this was going to bring a scolding, or bad news, or something I would rather not hear about, especially at the start of the school year.  
  
I ripped off the seal, and pulled out the letter, which was written in red ink, a truly bad sign from father. Red was his scolding and disgrace color, as it reminded him of Gryffindor. Any friendly letter was written in green ink; I didn't receive letters such as those often.  
  
"Draco," I read, pausing and forcing myself to read on. "I am immensely disappointed in your fracas with Potter, Weasley, and Granger. I expected better from you, and do not wish to speak with you until you have fully regained poise and all of your hair.  
  
"As for punishment, your mother has kindly accepted to take all blows for you. I daresay your usual supply of welcoming sweets will not arrive on time this year. As your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher will kindly remind you, WATCH YOURSELF. Thank your mother for her acceptance of your idiocy. Always, Lucius Malfoy."  
  
A terrible pang of guilt erupted inside my chest. Mother was taking my beatings. She was one who did not deserve my punishments; she was a woman slowly deteriorating into someone overprotective and rather off her rocker. I would try my best to be good the rest of the year.  
  
Damn father and his overpowering ways! But that was the role of all husbands, wasn't it? Were they supposed to rule with a strong hand over their wives and children? I made a silent vow to myself to be kinder to my children and wife when I reached that crucial moment in my life.  
  
But another thought was standing alone in my mind. Father told me to watch myself, as my new teacher would say. How did father know Circe? In what way were they acquainted with each other? Had Circe made liaisons with the Dark Side? Who was she, really, besides that enchantress on the back of Chocolate Frog cards?  
  
(A/N: Well, there you have it. I'm rather disappointed with myself; the story has lost most of its angst. Well, within the next few chapters, I shall try and gracefully regain the sadness in Draco, and don't worry, there's no love between Draco and Circe if you've thought that. I'm not that kind of writer! Please review!) 


	7. Masquerade Mysteries

(A/N: Heh, I'd like to add that I have read the Odyssey by Homer, and in case you were wondering, that's where I got Circe from. I believe in the Odyssey she was portrayed as light haired, but in my story, she's dark haired. Live with it. Notice the connection of the class turning into animals? I felt like doing that, lol. Well, here's what you want! Another chapter! A rather long one, too! Think of it as a good thing.)  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
The warm September days rolled on into chilly October as the daylight hours slowly decreased, with the trees shedding their beautiful orange and gold foliage. I had started Quidditch practice again, and had given the whole school something to marvel upon. Finally, the glory of owning something so wanted was mine!  
  
I looked up to the sky (or rather, ceiling) as the owls brought the morning post to us. I caught sight of my bundle of homemade sweets, and a wave of relief rushed over me; mother was well enough to make them. But there was something else dropping onto my plate of sausages and pancakes that was shaped very conspicuously.  
  
I knew immediately what it was. It was long and thin, wrapped in silver and green paper to make a show of this package. Also realizing what I had gotten, the whole of the Slytherin table at breakfast crowded around me. Unable to suppress a grin, as I took my time to irk the bystanders, I pulled the paper off lowly and neatly.  
  
It was a Nimbus Millennium.  
  
Even Celeste looked stunned at this new arrival to the breakfast table. I tried to look unsurprised, though I was quite amazed that father had bought it for me after my embarrassing brush with Potter, as I stood up and excused myself, to take my latest valuable to a safe place.  
  
"Malfoy's got a Millennium!" I heard students whispering as I walked by at a slow strut to show off my broomstick, with my head held high and my nose in the air. I was careful to throw a glance at Potter, Granger, and Weasley, who were watching me with grate looks of distaste.  
  
"I do hope those with brooms like a Firebolt will be able to keep up!" I said loudly to Goyle, who guffawed stupidly as Potter rolled his eyes. I heard Weasley make a comment, but couldn't quite hear what he said. Weasley happened to be full of surprises; with the loss of Oliver Wood, the old Gryffindor keeper, he managed to worm his way into a spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. No doubt Potter had worked his magic; he was also the Quidditch captain.  
  
After carefully locking my Millennium in my mahogany trunk, I found my way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Circe was becoming nothing short of entertaining lately. She had told us all about memory charms, the Imperius curse, and had also noted that after reading my essay, I was very unfamiliar with the self I should know very well.  
  
"We have been spending the year with your minds," Circe said, tapping her fingers against her side as the class watched her move gracefully across the room. "And I see no reason to change course. You have not proven to me that you show an interest in defense against the Dark Arts, and until you learn about the terror you are truly getting yourself into, we shall not continue."  
  
I groaned in my head. Hadn't she understood yet that we were Slytherins, those who commonly favored the Dark Arts? It must have been a strange thing in her mind, trying to teach those unwilling to learn. It was a job that I never would bargain for, even if it paid higher than father's job, which was a very high salary.  
  
"Your inner self is proportioned into two basic parts," Circe said, looking e straight in the eyes, so she caught my attention. She wanted me to listen. "Your good and bad consciences are two separate minds, in their own sense, yet they live in one body. Your body. In certain people, the good and bad halves can be separated, yet your mind will always connect both sides, in a connection.  
  
"When the good is taken away from the bad in the host mind or body, the evil side is the prominent side. When taken away, the good will form a body of its own, much like a human. But this new person, if you call the new being that, becomes very close to the other half, but will only be capable of good. However, if perchance this purely good life form perishes, a cursed life will ensue on the killer and the person to whom the good conscience belonged will be haunted with dark thoughts, and thoughts of guilt their entire lives."  
  
I was taking notes, as Circe liked us all to do. As the bell was about to ring, Circe settled at her desk, and gave the final comment, "Mister Malfoy, I would like to see you after class." I groaned, and nodded to her, as she shook back a sheet of black hair. Crabbe and Goyle were watching me, which was a signal of their feeble minds; they didn't know if they should wait for me or not.  
  
"Follow Celeste," I said to them, chucking my quill inside my bag, not bothering to look up at them. When the bell rang moments later, I could tell by the heavy thumping of their dragging feet they were wandering aimlessly out of the classroom, to face the world by themselves.  
  
"Mister Malfoy." Circe said once the classroom was empty. She beckoned me over to her desk, and as if against my will, I stood up, leaving my school supplies behind to stand in front of her. "I believe there are some questions you would like to ask me." Her green eyes were burning into my cold blue-gray ones, threatening me to answer her.  
  
"Well." I started. "How do you know so much about me? And how do you know my father?" It all just came pouring out of me. I didn't mean to ask so many questions at once, and I actually didn't mean to ask any at all, but something inside me had seemed to make me.  
  
"One at a time, please," Circe said in return, leaning back in her chair. I nodded. "I know so much about you because I take the time to research something on nearly everyone in the wizarding world, that has once lived. You wonder, then, why I was not a teacher for History of Magic? There is no open post, Mister Malfoy. Why do I do it? Because, to succeed in the world you must know as much as you can about everyone-your friends and enemies alike.  
  
"I have, as you noticed, had a personal experience with your family, your father in particular. I know more about you than you do, Draco." She paused for a moment, to allow my brain to digest what I had just heard. There were a variety of things I did not understand; why did Circe feel she needed to know about everyone? And now she said she had an experience with my family.  
  
"It isn't quite what you would think," she said with a smile. "As I said, I know nearly all there is to know about your family, after an incident with your father. I have no motive to turn your family in, but I know perfectly well that your father is a Death Eater."  
  
She expected me to comment, judging by the look on her face, but I kept silent; the best defense in the books. After keeping her eyes steadily burning into mine, she continued, with a look of bemused delight on her face. The only teacher I had ever seen look so delighted was the Mad Eye Moody imposter, who had gotten such a look in his eyes (both of them) when I was a white ferret, bouncing off the floor.  
  
"I'm not a very social person," Circe said softly. By her looks, I never would have guessed it. "I do not delight in large crowds, and as you may have noticed, I do not dine with the rest of the school, but alone in my chambers. For all my life, I have had an isle where I made my home, with wild animals, and the beautiful, unblemished surroundings.  
  
"Yet I kept up with all news that came. I was determined to stay out of the toil Lord Voldemort had started. It was not my business. But yet, there are those determined to break the silence, for their own benefits."  
  
Circe shook her head, and looked me up and down. I was starting to fear her, though I would never admit fear to anyone living. "Hungry for more power, who should come to my peaceful residence, but Lucius Malfoy? Yes, your father. He was willing to betray Voldemort on account that I sided with him, and started my own branch of evil."  
  
I stared at Circe for a moment, trying to get my brain to absorb everything again. Father betray the Dark Lord? Ask for Circe's hand in ruling? It all seemed so unbelievable! Yet Circe left me no more time to collect my thoughts.  
  
"Though it was such an enticing offer, I turned your father down." Circe said, leaning forward again and folding her hands over. "This was years before you were born, Draco. He was a young man then, eager for power beyond that of Lord Voldemort. Though clever he was to think of me, I turned him down, for peace and tranquility that I so treasured in my world."  
  
"You're mad!" I said, before I could stop myself. "Stark staring mad! Father would never go as far as betraying the Dark Lord! He is faithful, and knows where his loyalties lie!"  
  
Circe showed no expression. "I just thought you ought to know." She said simply, paying no attention to my semi-sudden outburst. "And," she smiled. "I believe there is something you would enjoy seeing." Circe smiled, and reached into on of the drawers in her large oak desk and produced what appeared to be a crystal ball.  
  
Inside the small orb that was the crystal ball, I saw the classroom that now contained Circe and I. Students were pouring in slowly, students that were Gryffindors. I saw the figure of Circe emerge and gesture to them. The reactions of the Gryffindor class were much like the reaction of my class. Several sat down in the inviting chairs, while others stood idly.  
  
I was watching Potter, who had slumped into a chair after a few moments, and as he picked up his fork, raising his food to his mouth, he looked up at Circe, probably questioning her. But Potter did something I did not do; he took a bite of the cursed food. Moments later, all of the Gryffindor class, save Granger, who was still standing in front of the class (she had never sat down), had burst into a wild assortment of animals.  
  
Potter, I saw, was a small pink piglet.  
  
Circe smiled at me, and took the little crystal ball and shoved it carefully back into her desk. "Does that answer most of your questions?" She asked. I nodded. In the light of seeing Potter pop into a pink pig, I had temporarily forgotten all troubles with my father. She couldn't be telling the truth, anyway.  
  
"Oh, Mister Malfoy," she said, standing up as I turned to leave. "I was telling you the truth." I shook my head and pretended not to hear her. What made my father see her as so high and mighty, if she was telling the truth? She was just a beautiful woman with her mind mixed up. I'll bet she was a Gryffindor when she was at Hogwarts!  
  
At that moment I decided to take into account the first lesson she gave: trust no one.  
  
* * * *  
  
Quidditch practice had been nagging at me all day; I was itching to try out the Millennium. The new inspiration it provided was greater than the display Potter had put on against the Hungarian Horntail in the Triwizard Tournament; our whole team was flying better, I noticed, and it felt so good to be back in the air where all my troubles vanished in the moment, leaving my mind empty and almost hopelessly devoted to the sport.  
  
Sitting on the common room couch after a hard day, my mind was still empty, and I felt so enlightened, I could have fallen asleep at that very moment had Snape not barged in with an announcement to make. With a groan, I righted myself, and listened to what the Head of Slytherin House had to say.  
  
"Hogwarts is pleased to present," Snape read from a piece of parchment. I noticed the rather annoyed look on his face; he did not seem happy at all. "The Masquerade ball, to held on October the Thirty-first, at eight o'clock p.m." He paused to cast a greasy look to the room, which had started to buzz excitedly. "The attendee with the most creative costume will win the prize of one hundred Galleons."  
  
With a sigh, he folded up the parchment, and tucked it into his pocket leisurely. "I take it into account that you are all perfectly aware what a masquerade is," Snape mused aloud, raising his eyebrows at us. Of course we knew the meaning of masquerade; most of our parents ran around with masked faces murdering Muggles. "And I expect you all to keep your identities secretive so that you will not embarrass the Slytherin house."  
  
Celeste looked excited. I could tell she was wondering how many people she could fool the night of the masquerade ball. Snape looked less than enthralled, as he gave us all a foreboding look before he left in a swish of his long black robes. Were we expected to dress up for this Halloween masquerade ball?  
  
The common room had instantly filled with a buzz, with people talking about what they might go as, people that would not tell, and people that were merely listening to find out who people were going as so hey could play tricks and plot their schemes. At the moment, I felt nothing like plotting my own deceitful plots of espionage against fellow Slytherins, so I let myself meander up the spiraling stairs to my bed, where I dropped like a log.  
  
Sleep seemed so irresistible and warm, that I could not hold myself back. Within minutes, I was lost in dreams of winning the costume contest (however silly it sounded, it was still winning), and tricking other students into doing things that they would normally ever do if they knew I was Draco Malfoy.  
  
* * * *  
  
I spent the next few days silently stalking Potter and his cronies. Though Granger never let her costume idea slip, I discovered that Potter was going as Godric Gryffindor, and Weasley had talk of going as a goblin with a realistic goblin voice (oh, how clever of him to think of that! Taking in gibberish and making threatening gestures, that was the language of the goblins). I would need to find a way to lure them into a plot that could bestow loads of trouble upon them.  
  
My biggest concern, however, was my own costume. I needed something that no one would ever guess I would wear; something strange, "good," or so plain no one would notice my existence. I wanted to go as Salazar Slytherin to contradict Potter, but that would have been way too obvious.  
  
I got the idea from Circe, really, when she mentioned something about Muggle literature, and the connection that Shakespeare had made with the Magical World. His writings were almost always based on a true magical event, such as Romeo and Juliet, who were real people in the Wizarding World, whose fates would not allow subsisting together.  
  
Though it was internally humiliating to me, I decided to go as Romeo Montague. With all the spare time I had after Quidditch practice, I sneaked up to the dormitory to finish my costume, which was all together, a mortifying ensemble.  
  
The worst part was the tights that were visible up to my knees, where I had compiled a pair of gray bloomers (yes, take this opportunity to have a hearty laugh at me), which were trimmed with a scarlet piece of silk. The tunic was also scarlet (which was a color I hated; no one would guess I was wearing the Gryffindor color!), and fell over the top of a gold shirt. At my hips, I sheathed a sword, and pulled the mask over my face.  
  
The mask was wildly detailed, which took the longest to make, as I was not an obscenely artistic person, depicting the sad face of a lover who had been separated from his true love. My silvery blonde hair, which could have been a giveaway, was changed to a rich shade of chestnut brown, and to add final touches, I deepened my voice, and changed my steely blue-gray eyes into a dazzling emerald blue color.  
  
Not wanting to be seen in the Slytherin common room, I made an easy climb out the window, down the old crumbling rain gutters of stone, and slipped into a window on the third floor of the towering castle, glad that the halls were deserted. After I strutted down the stairs by myself, practicing a swagger that would look unlike my usual, I could hear clearly the buzz coming from the Great Hall.  
  
I entered the Hall with the masses, to discover that the house tables had disappeared. Alone in a rather dark corner, I took a table that was empty, and sat down, watching the other students through my disguise.  
  
I picked out Celeste straight away. She was (I won't deny it) very beautiful indeed, and hadn't bothered too much with a disguise; I knew who she was, but there was no way she would find out who I was. Her costume was a long, tightly fitting dress, with a very low neckline, and a mask that was covering her face, yet leaving her long blonde hair flowing down her back. There was no doubt that the girl in green (who was also blonde) happened to be Kayta, who was always flanking Celeste as Crabbe and Goyle did me.  
  
The decorations all around the hall were amazing, and the candles floated in the air, leaving it slightly dim, yet bright enough to see what you wanted, making the light becoming to nearly everyone. A slight golden mist was hanging in the air, and the table, I noticed, was set with drinks, and when I picked up my fork, food filled my plate. It was perfect; no speech from the Muggle-loving headmaster to ruin the evening.  
  
But food was soon forgotten, when the softest voice broke into my thoughts of sabotaging Potter, and I set my fork down to look up at a girl. "May I sit here?" She asked. I could do nothing more than nod. I could not tell if she was smiling at me for real or not, but her mask was smiling. A long flowing gown of light blue graced the girl's voluptuous figure in all the right places, and straight hair of light brown fell past her shoulders, with a crown of flowers weaved into a braid around her head.  
  
She reached out a hand to pick up a fork, and the brown eyes behind the mask caught my artificially blue ones, and she asked me a second question, followed by a statement. "Who are you?" She asked lightly, stabbing a piece of chicken with her fork and bringing it to her mouth as if this were an everyday feast. "I really like your costume!"  
  
I came to my senses, as my heart leaped back into its rightful spot in my chest. "Romeo Montague." I said, enjoying the new voice to full extent. It was low and deep, and I could tell by the way her mask depicted the girl's emotions, that she was trying to piece together who I was. "Perhaps you are familiar with the story?"  
  
She smiled. "Of course." She said, scooting her chair closer to me, pretending to admire my costume, while what she was really trying to do was get a closer look at me. "Which witch or wizard is not familiar with the tragic story of lovers from two different sides falling for each other when there was little hope for a prosperous relationship?"  
  
I could name a few people, just to start.  
  
"I cannot think of a single soul." I lied, pretending to think hard under my mask, which thankfully, did not depict my emotions. If it had, perchance, the girl would have seen a look of sheer delight on my face. It would have been completely embarrassing. I was not supposed to have emotions, but they had suddenly returned to me, from wherever they were boxed up.  
  
"The Weird Sisters are booked for tonight, like they were for the Yule ball." She said, attempting to keep conversation going. "I enjoyed that, didn't you?"  
  
"Yes, I did," I said, which was a lie. I had a rather miserable time, sweating in my velvet robes, with Pansy Parkinson clinging to my arm. I had thus revealed to the girl that I was above fourth year, as the youngest attendant at the Yule ball had been Ginny Weasley, who Longbottom snagged for his date. "And I do wish Britain would have hosted the World Cup this year, it was excellent fun when we did."  
  
"Oh!" The girl exclaimed. "I wish so too, but Bulgaria finally captured the cup from Ireland! It was quite the match; pity you weren't able to attend it. Krum had an amazing catch, and they got a new Chaser, who was enough to glue the other two together to at least stay close to Ireland's, who are still, hands down, best in the league."  
  
She was a girl that went to the Quidditch Cup. I was starting to like her more and more. She couldn't be a mudblood if she was at the World Cup; Muggle born fools are usually in Muddle-land with their families during the summer. She knew about sports, and did not appear to be a Mudblood. That meant I could cross Granger off the list of potential girls.  
  
But what I did know, as conversation carried on throughout the evening, is that I felt something new inside my heart, and allowed it to carry on, wiping out my brain. As long as I had a disguise, I might as well just act on my good feelings for once; no one would ever know.  
  
It was by far the best dinner I had ever experienced, for the soul fact that I had someone to share my feelings with. I could speak my mind, but I kept all thoughts on the Dark Side to myself, so I would not give my identity away, but it didn't matter, conversation was cheerful.  
  
"May I have this dance?" I asked my dinner mate, when the soft music of the Weird Sisters started to play a beautiful slow ballad. Through her mask that gave off her emotions, she smiled at me. I stood up and extended a hand, as though I had done this many times before.  
  
"Certainly," she said softly, taking my hand and standing up with me. It was a strange feeling to truly like the girl I was dancing with. I could almost feel myself shaking as I took her right hand in my right hand, and out my other hand around her waist, while she let her free hand rest on my shoulder.  
  
There was a noticeable distance between the two of us, so that a rather thin person could have stood comfortably between us while we were dancing. The song seemed to go on forever that first tense dance we shared, as we revolved on the spot, the lowest from of dancing.  
  
Couples around us were close together, probably because they knew exactly whom they were dancing with. They were watching the girl and I dance awkwardly with each other, and the crammed dance floor was packed with people such as Fred and George Weasley (who were obvious because of their flaming red hair behind their masks; they probably couldn't afford proper materials for good costumes such as mine), who were getting down with their bad selves to slow songs, causing people to back away.  
  
I didn't want to let go when the first song ended, so I kept my hand firmly in the hand of the mystery girl, and kept a strong grip around her trim waist. The beat was still dawdling, and the girl's brown eyes again met my (artificially) blue ones, and her mask smiled at me again. My heart jumped to my throat. This was silly! Did I, Draco Malfoy, have a crush on this girl?  
  
"Here," she said, letting her hand fall from my shoulder to pull me closer to her. "That better?" I nodded, not being able o say anything else. This was so unlike me. What happened to all my morals (or, I should say, what was left of them)? Falling for some strange girl was not high on my list of things to do.  
  
But it certainly was nice to feel her body pressed against mine. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I wondered if she could feel it beating, because I certainly could feel hers. It was a feeling of ecstasy that I had never experienced before, and it was starting to take over my brain and body.  
  
"I'm not a very good dancer," I finally said, after letting her steer us to a less crowded part of the dance floor. At least I had not stepped on her feet, which were clad in sky blue slippers with small roses weaved into the silk fabric. For the first time, I noticed how wet my hands seemed. Was I sweating? Was she sweating? Were we both perspiring?  
  
My ten minutes in the heaven of slow dancing came to a close more quickly than I expected, when the Weird Sisters struck up a lively tune involving a fast beat. My hands dropped back to my side, and so did my partner's.  
  
"Um, shall we?" She asked, gesturing to the empty tables.  
  
"Drinks?" I asked, letting her weave her arm into mine as we walked to the table. She nodded, as if her heart had jumped into her throat as mine had did earlier. "I'll get them. Butterbeer?"  
  
"Of course." She said, still clinging to my arm. "I'll come with," she added. I had the feeling she did not want to be asked by anyone else for a dance; actually, it was not a feeling, it was a hope.  
  
We sat sipping our drinks, deep in conversation, only getting up for the slow paced songs, so we could press our bodies close together and feel our hearts beating madly. It was more exhilarating that winning a Quidditch match; my heart had never raced this fast before.  
  
Finally (though it seemed as if it had only been three minutes), chimes that I had never paid attention to struck midnight, and a man in a costume depicting a lively Quidditch player, in bright orange robes, clambered to the head of the staff table. I couldn't believe my eyes when he pulled off his mask and a sheet of long white hair fell down.  
  
Dumbledore had dressed as the Quidditch player, and I saw several girls nearby looking mortified. They must have asked him for a dance! McGonagall stepped up next to him, holding her mask in her hand. She had dressed as some sort of heathen vixen; it was quite terrifying.  
  
"I do believe everyone has had a wonderful time tonight, and as the evening has come to a close, you may unmask yourselves, and reveal your identities." He said, waving his arms in the air jovially. "On your way back to your common rooms!"  
  
There was a creaking sound, as the doors opened, and students started to pour out. I didn't want to leave! For the first time, I had enjoyed being in a larger crowd, though I had not been myself. Someone had listened to my ideas and gave hers back in return, making me feel as if I were really loved, which I had never experienced before in my life, save the love mother gave, which was totally different.  
  
That special someone was tugging on my arm, beckoning for me to follow her into the rose gardens. We slipped out silently to say our farewells, and a new fear crossed my mind. What if she asked me to take off my mask?  
  
Things were certainly heading that way, as we sat down on a marble bench in a cluster of rose bushes. We both looked at our feet. Reaching into the bushes, I ignored the thorns that all beautiful roses have, using my pricked fingers to pull a red rose for my companion.  
  
"It's beautiful," she said softly, looking away. There was an awkward silence, where we both shuffled around in our seats. The moon was full, and all the stars had come out, casting a dim light on the two of us, sitting there, without words.  
  
"Well," I said. "I had a wonderful time."  
  
The girl nodded, then asking the question that was burning into both of our minds. "Are we taking off our masks?" I bet my lip, under my mask (which I was now eternally thankful for, as it did not show emotions), and sighed.  
  
"I don't think I can," I said softly, and I was sure my voice was barely audible.  
  
"I won't, if you won't." She said firmly. There was another silence, which she broke again. "Then will you lift your mask enough to kiss me goodnight?"  
  
My heart dropped to my feet, or it might have leaped back into my throat, but wherever it was, it was now beating furiously, as I lifted the chin of my mask, closing my eyes as my date followed suit.  
  
It was then as if a chorus of violins had struck up the most beautiful harmony, right then and there. Her lips were soft, and the soft tough of her lips against mine, setting off my carpal senses, letting a new feeling flow freely through my veins. Her arms slid around my neck as she pulled away for a quick breath of air. It was now I who leaned in, pressing our lips together as if hers were a kind of sweets I was yearning for when I was a child, foolishly letting my self indulge, making my mind weaker and weaker by the moment.  
  
We pulled away from each other at long last, and put our masks back over our jaw areas, standing up to say our farewells. The slight breeze was blowing the girl's long flowing dress as the moonlight bounced off her skin, and the stars were reflected in her eyes.  
  
"It was nice meeting you," she said, letting her mask smile at me. "Even if we have met before." With a turn that sent her dress flowing again in the billowing breeze, she waved at me, and turned to leave.  
  
"Wait!" I cried suddenly, glad that my new voice was low, and did not sound desperate. "You never told me who you're dressed as!"  
  
She turned back and smiled at me. "Juliet Capulet," she said.  
  
After she was gone, I lingered in the rose patch, trying to make sense of my feelings. I didn't feel quite like sneaking back up to the Dormitory, so I lay myself down on the marble bench and stared up at the stars.  
  
For the first real time, my senses had all been aroused, and I had gotten my first taste of what it might feel like to be in love, even though I knew this more than likely was a total infatuation. But, whatever it was, it felt good.  
  
(A/N: That was LONG! Sorry about that, got a little carried away. I honestly didn't mean to, but I promise the other chapters won't be as long; they get a little hard to read when things get too long.  
  
Anyway, now you have a few mysteries to wonder about! I'm out of school (as of yesterday, May 21st!) and now have time to freely type, so there's a chance that updates could get frequent, or they could get less frequent. So have fun wondering about who this girl is [Hint: not an original character, but one of J.K. Rowling's own!], and try and make sense of what Circe says!  
  
I know I keep saying this, but this time I really mean it when I say something will return the angst to the next chapter! :D  
  
--Clayr) 


	8. Dreaming Realties

(A/N: Well, I've been slow even though school has been out since the 21st. So, without further ado, here it is: more! I'm not quite sure yet if I like this chapter. I'm not satisfied with any of my writing, really, but I'm not liking this chapter at all because my descriptions seem badly written. Well, anyway, read on. It also got a bit long.)  
  
Chapter Eight  
  
When I awoke the next morning, a wide alloy of feelings was pulsing through my veins. The most prominent feeling was telling me suffocate myself with my pillow at that very instant. What was I thinking the previous night? All the thoughts running through my mind were telling me what a dumb lout I had been in thinking about this girl for even a second.  
  
Through the course of events during the Masquerade, I had forgotten my number one priority of the evening: to scam Potter and company. Not a single person was having a painful time, because I had used up all my time flirting with a girl. Not only that, but a girl that I didn't know the identity of!  
  
What was happening to me? Was I softening up? No! I couldn't do that. I had just let my feelings fun away with me, that was all. It was nothing; I would force the thoughts out of my head. Yes, that was what I would do.  
  
But I couldn't! As I got dressed for the weekend, it was all I could think of. My mind was fixed on the shape of her slim body, and the beautiful amber color f her brown eyes, like freshly polished wood they had shone at me, reflecting my not quite real reflection. And the way she smelled, and spoke, and looked at me.  
  
I sauntered down the steps to the Slytherin Common Room, absolutely grinning from ear to ear. Several Second years got out of my way; they knew what usually happened when I was grinning. But this was not a grin; it was a smile. A smile. What?! I never smiled!  
  
A first year cleared the large green sofa, and I let my body fall softly on it, propping up my legs on the armrest, and leaning back. Crabbe and Goyle had not failed to be sitting stupidly across from me, as always. They were looking at me with a face full of confusion. They had gone to the ball as boulders. At least that's what I think they were. Well, they were easy to pick out of the crowd, as they were some of the biggest people there.  
  
"Tell us what you dressed up as, Draco!" Crabbe said at once. Wow, a full sentence. I was impressed. But not quite impressed enough of his ability to string words together for a sentence to tell him who I had gone as. Not having quite enough intellect to pester me any longer, Goyle decided to voice who had won the costume contest.  
  
"Did you hear?" He asked, keeping things simple. "Eloise Midgen won the contest. She was a goblin."  
  
"Really," I drawled lazily. "So she didn't have to dress up at all? Just wore her face as a mask, did she?" Crabbe and Goyle guffawed at my remark. I wasn't sure that they understood it, but they had grasped enough of it to know that they should laugh. Or else.  
  
"Malfoy!" Thundered a furious voice as the entrance to the common room opened. I rolled my eyes and looked up. Warrington, the new Slytherin Quidditch captain, was soon standing over me, looking murderous. I kept my cool. "You overslept! Practice started two hours ago! And here you are sitting on the couch?"  
  
"Yes," I said, mentally kicking myself for sleeping in, all on account of not getting any sleep because of the girl. "But later I have projection of giving my Millennium a good polishing, I do think too many practices will start to have an affect upon it! And I have to keep it in top condition for games, Captain."  
  
Captain Warrington looked irritated, but all the same, he was looking forward to the prospect of the whole team getting new brooms next year. The only way to do that was to be kind to me, so I put in a good word with father. Everything in the situation favored me. It feels good to take advantage of the narrow minded.  
  
"Then do it properly, Malfoy," he muttered, shaking his head, turning furiously away, heading up to his own dorm. If I had been truthful with myself, I needed the practice with the upcoming match. In a week's time, we were playing Gryffindor, our greatest rivals. The previous times I played Potter, I had met defeat. This time I would not.  
  
I sighed deeply, and closed my eyes. A warm feeling took over my body, and though I had just come from a long lie-in, I felt sleep coming on. Against the will of my own body, I tried to open my eyes, without success. The heavy feeling that kept my eyes from opening soon was dominating my whole body.  
  
A new feeling grabbed my innards, as I was unable to move, and found myself spiraling down what seemed to be a long, black drop. With a lurch, I felt the hot putrid taste of vomit in my throat; I couldn't open my mouth to hurl. I just kept falling down, and down, and down.  
  
Until my body hit what I guess was a floor. Pain crept up my sides, and I moaned, regaining all movement and vocal capabilities. The first thing I did with my newly regained movements was to roll over, and released the hot and putrid vomit from my throat. It was disgusting, and I was fully comforted that I could see nothing.  
  
As my muscles regained their own control, very slowly, they brought my body to an upright sitting position. The room of total darkness, or wherever I was, was starting to spin, and my head suddenly felt very light on my shoulders, and the sick feeling in my stomach lurched. More vomit joined the pool beside me.  
  
My vocal capabilities were returned, I discovered, as I gave a long low moan and clutched my middle section. I didn't have a chance to execute any other painful movements, for I was moving again. This time, I was not circling down, but was flying gradually in a parallel direction. It was as if there was no gravity.  
  
But not for long. I could feel myself falling again, and the sick feeling was returning to me. I was temporarily paralyzed for another moment, when I felt the ground, or whatever it was, coming closer and closer to me. Movement returned to me, and I screamed loudly, wrenching my eyes shut and expecting the worst.  
  
But it wasn't the worst. It was as if I had landed on thousands of pillows, except that the ground was solid. The sickness in my middle left me, and I felt no tingling pain in my limbs. I quickly stood up, so the floor could not engulf me again, wondering if standing made a difference.  
  
Dim lights flickered on, and for the first time, I saw my surroundings. There was not much to see; just an old kitchen table with two chairs placed at it, facing across from each other, along with a vase of shriveled flowers. The walls were a pastel color, with no paintings or any decorations whatsoever. I turned around, and found that the surroundings changed completely.  
  
No longer were the walls pastel, but they were black. As soon as I laid eyes upon it, I felt a certain coldness, as if my soul had left my body, making me feel cold. I shivered, my eyes resting upon a skeleton that lay at my feet. But at the end of the hall, dimly illuminated by a flickering yellow light, there was a door.  
  
I screamed. There was something about it that made me feel even colder than I had been before. My breath came in raspy segments instead of the usual smooth flow of breathing. I had to force my brain to tell me to breath, otherwise I would have suffocated. But even as I tried, it was as if the air were suffocating me as well.  
  
I heard another scream; it was the scream of a child, innocent and defenseless. A cruel sense of wonder flickered on inside my blackened heart, telling me I should laugh. But deep down, and far away, a distant voice was telling me to help. Telling me to go towards the door.  
  
Panic ensued. I didn't have but the faintest idea of what I should do. My heartbeat was rapidly increasing, and there was very little time before there was no air left for me to breathe. I was sucking what little life remained in the dampness. But what could I do?  
  
Yes, what could I do? There seemed to be no feasible actions for the situation. Basing my actions on this thought, I gave up. I didn't care if I lived, or if I died. It was too hard. Too hard to stay awake. With a gasp, I took in the remaining oxygen, and let my heart beat as it willed.  
  
It was too late, anyway.  
  
~*~  
  
"Malfoy!" A sharp voice cut into my dreams, popping the unhappy bubble. My eyes opened corollary, and I was looking up not at darkness, but at the face of a beautiful girl, with long blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. I tried to move. She was sitting on me, so I wrenched forward and threw her off me.  
  
"Hello, Celeste," I said unenthusiastically. Celeste was looking quite calm as she picked herself off the floor, standing up and dusting off her green weekend robes. I could tell something was irking her, and that something involved me. But as my mind was half full with the terrifying images of my dream, there was no room in my brain to process what she could be thinking.  
  
"Care telling me what you went to the Masquerade as?" She said smoothly. There was no way I was telling her! Why was she even asking about it? I smirked at her. She, however, remained so calm that a slight panic arose inside of my chest. "Or I'll tell the whole of Hogwarts, especially Potter and company that you were having such a bad dream," she paused to snicker at me. "That you wet yourself!"  
  
I could feel the color draining from my face as I looked down at my pants. My heart skipped a beat or two as I saw the front of my pants. They were almost sopping wet, and I had been so preoccupied with other thoughts that I had not noticed until that fateful moment.  
  
Celeste's face lit up as more color drained from mine. I couldn't believe it! The dream had scared me so much that I had wet my pants. Now I had one of two options, I could tell Celeste who I was, or let her tell the whole school I had a nightmare and wet myself.  
  
"I didn't go to the ball," I said slowly. I pretended to look ashamed at myself. An idea came to me. I grinned. "I spent the whole evening stalking you, with your date." I shook my head, and waved a finger like an upset parent. "And if I were you, I wouldn't want the whole school to know that you were in the rose garden with Seamus Finnigan."  
  
It was Celeste's turn to look shocked. Her mouth formed a circle of surprise. Truthfully, I had no idea which one of her many prospective victims she had taken with her to the rose garden, and I had a sneaking suspicion that she did not have the slightest clue, either. But if it was Seamus Finnigan, a Gryffindor, that would be the ultimate shame; worse than wetting your pants.  
  
Balling up her fists, she shot me one last look before turning out of the room, in a rage. "Oh, and by the way," she said, as if trying to sound nice all of a sudden. "I poured water down your front to give you a scare." I laughed. She didn't want me to tell the house of Slytherin what she had been doing on the night of the Masquerade ball. If I were her, I wouldn't either. Fooling around with a potential Gryffindor? That, my friend, would be a terror worse than my dream.  
  
~*~  
  
Through seven more nights of fitful sleep, the day of the Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch match had arrived. I was not quite sure what I had dreamt of that night, be it one of two recurring dreams. One dream was pleasant; the other was far from it. I hoped it had been the dream where I replayed the moment of the kiss with the mystery girl (I think I'll call her Juliet, making myself still Romeo), for good luck. It was the closest thing to a good-luck-kiss I would be getting that day.  
  
One could feel the tension in the Great Hall between the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables as breakfast was eaten. I myself was sending morbid looks across the hall to Potter, grinning maliciously and letting my eyes sparkle at the prospect of beating him on my Millennium.  
  
The rest of the day rolled slowly on, until the very moment I stood in front of the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team, wearing my green robes, and tightly gripping my Millennium as if I were holding on for dear life. I was paying no attention at all to Warrington's pre-game talk, until he addressed me personally.  
  
"You will have no problem, correct?" He said, narrowing his bushy eyebrows at me. For Warrington, his face was always his game face. I nodded, unable to speak. I feared that if I spoke, my insides would proceed out my mouth and land on the ground at my feet. It was how I felt at the moment.  
  
We took our warm-up laps, and the feeling of anxiety suddenly disappeared to another part of my body. There was something about shooting through the air at high speeds that made you forget all your troubles, and cleared your mind at the moment. God, I loved flying.  
  
As we stood on the ground, preparing for takeoff, I looked across the field at Harry Potter, who was looking at his feet as if his insides were about to spill all over. I knew how he felt, but I'd never admit that I felt sympathetic at that current moment. Hell, why was I even admitting it to myself?  
  
But all thoughts escaped my head as the whistle sounded. I jetted into the air, and felt the wind play with my hair, which was never slicked back for Quidditch matches, as it got messed up anyway. But at least the trouble that bestowed Potter did not bestow me; my hair was usually neat, unlike his.  
  
I sneered, and looked down at Potter, who was making rounds around the field, cheering Gryffindor on. I pursed my lips. It was a typical dirty match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. The disgusting Weasley twins were beating furiously at the Bludgers, while our beaters beat furiously at the Gryffindor Chasers with their clubs. It was rather entertaining to whoosh through the air to keep my eyes open for the small ball of gold that might pass by my head.  
  
"Sure you can keep up, Potter?" I shouted at Potter, who I had swept by, nearly knocking him off his broom with the speeds I whipped by with. Potter gripped his Firebolt firmly, and pursed his lips at me. I could tell his brain was trying to process a witty comeback.  
  
"Does this broom have an eye to see the Snitch with, Malfoy?" He said, wrinkling his nose at me. I sneered at him.  
  
"Perhaps your broom should come equipped with glasses!" I said. From the hidden pocket in my robes, I withdrew my wand so that it was visible to only Potter and I. "Since you'll be needing new ones!" I smirked. "Wingardium Leviosa!"  
  
And with that, Potter's glasses began to levitate slowly above his head. He shot into the air after them, but over guessed the distance, and I let go of my wand, tucking it back into my pocket. His glasses began a rapid decline towards the ground.  
  
"HARRY POTTER HAS SEEN THE SNITCH!" I heard Lee Jordan's magnified voice boomed across the stadium, as Potter went into a speedy dive to recover his falling glasses. I smirked, and pretended to follow him. I bit my lip so hard it nearly bled when Potter made a recovery of his glasses, and I hung low in the air, waiting for the Snitch. "NO, HE'S JUST CATCHING HIS GLASSES!"  
  
It was at that moment that I saw a glint of something gold in Potter's glasses, which he had hastily shoved on his face. My heart leaped, and I looked down. My wristwatch was gold. That was all. It was a flash of my wristwatch. That was all. I took a deep breath.  
  
It was in that very brief period of time that I closed my eyes to take a breath when I heard a distinct buzzing sound, and the whoosh of robes to my left, when I gasped sharply, and whirled my broom in the other direction. My mind was completely oblivious to what Lee Jordan was shouting.  
  
Potter was not feinting. He was accelerating towards the Snitch as fast as his broom would take him, and was going at a decent rate; after all, the Firebolt was still a World-Class broom. But my broom was faster. It was faster, but Potter had a head start. Was it enough for me to overcome?  
  
Potter just couldn't go fast enough, and soon we were neck-in-neck, with our arms stretched out, accelerating at high speeds, fifty or more feet above the ground, in hot pursuit of a golden ball with wings. My arms happened to be longer than Potter's and that put me at a slight advantage. At least it would have had not he scooted forward, and tried to knock my hand out of the way.  
  
I slammed him back, and we both cascaded in opposite directions, torn between knocking each other off our brooms and catching the Snitch. A hatred like no other filled my chest at that moment, and I felt myself wanting to scream. Everything that angered me was suddenly let out; father, Potter, Pansy, Celeste, Circe, the dream, myself.  
  
We both stopped swatting at each other, and reached out hands out. I felt my fingers make contact with a cold metal, and pulled sharply in my direction, feeling excitement pulse through my veins. I had finally beaten Potter!  
  
Or so I thought.  
  
As I tugged on the golden ball, an opposing force had done so at that exact moment. Despite the time and place, my jaw found time to drop as I looked over at Potter, who was looking at me with confusing, and keeping a tight grip on the Snitch. The whole stadium had fallen silent. Not even Lee Jordan dared to voice his comments.  
  
I sent a hard glare in the general direction of Potter, and in return, he narrowed his rather busy eyebrows at me. One could feel the tension in the air, and it was waaaaay too thick to be cut with an ordinary knife. In fact, it was so thick that neither Potter nor I heard Madam Hooch blowing on her whistle until she was right in our angry faces.  
  
We both landed smoothly on the ground, and were forced by Madam Hooch to let the Snitch free from our iron grips. The crowd was craning down towards us, as the teams of both Slytherin and Gryffindor alike stood on the field with their brooms in hand. The sun was shining brightly down upon us as we looked with confusion to Madam Hooch, who seemed to have reached a verdict.  
  
I heard her magnify her voice, ("Sonorous!") and then she turned toward the crowd without first consulting the athletes, and said, "THE SCORES ARE CURRENTLY TIED AT FIFTY, AS YOU CAN SEE!" She paused, and the crowd murmured an agreement. "AND DUE TO SOME VERY UNUSUAL CIRCUMSTANCES WE HAVE REACHED A VERDICT THAT ONE HUNDRED FIFTY POINTS SHALL BE AWARDED TO BOTH GRYFFINDOR AND SYTHERIN FOR THE CAPTURE OF THE SNITCH, AS THERE IS NO WAY TO BREAK THE TIE BETWEEN THE TWO SEEKERS."  
  
I stared at her. That meant.  
  
"GRYFFINDOR AND SLYTHERIN ARE TIED AT TWO HUNDRED POINTS APIECE, AND THIS GAME ENDS IN A TIE. THE QINNER OF THE HOUSE CUP THIS YEAR WILL BE THE TEAM THAT HAS MET THE LEAST NUMBER OF DEFEATS, OR IF THE RECORDS REMAIN CONSTANT, THE WINNER WILL BE BASED UPON POINTS SCORED THIS SEASON."  
  
I balled my left fist; my right hand curled around the Millennium, and I bit my lip in a rage. I was willing to bet that father would find a way to set this right. I should have won. But why? Why should I have won, and not Potter? There was nothing I did that he did not, except use my cunning diversionary tactics.  
  
"CONGRATULATIONS TO BOTH TEAMS!" Madam Hooch finished. I could tell that she looked quite downtrodden that Slytherin had tied with Gryffindor and that Gryffindor had not been able to take the win, as we had a way of playing dirty, which she seemed to deem unfair in school Quidditch.  
  
The time in the shower was a very quiet time. After dressing myself in silence, I took hold of my Millennium, and pushed open the doors angrily. We tied! How could we tie! I had vowed to myself that I would beat Potter, yet we tied. Tied! I decided not to confront father, who had probably left to take out my mistakes out on mother anyhow, and winged to the left.  
  
"Good game, Mister Malfoy," said a smooth voice to my immediate right. I jumped when I saw Circe standing against the wall, with her hair in her face and her arms crossed. "You're full of surprises, lately." She grinned, and her face lit up. A strange tingling feeling was unleashed inside of me. "It took me ages to find out who you were at that Masquerade." She smiled. "But there are very few rich enough to purchase such beautiful fabric."  
  
My heart dropped to my feet. What if someone else thought of this? "And I loved your eyes, Malfoy," she added. "That's what befuddled me the most." She pondered aloud. "Instead of steely gray, you let them shine as a warm light blue." I grinned. I had rather liked the eyes, if I did say so myself.  
  
"Well, I-"  
  
"Excuse me," someone muttered, dropping to the floor to pick up a load of books that had fallen at my feet. I looked down and glanced bushy brown hair and a thin feminine figure scooping up a load of books and hastily shoving them into a black school bag. "Sorry."  
  
It was the Mudblood, Granger. I wrinkled my nose and turned back to Circe. She was grinning at me. I suddenly came to the conclusion that I did not understand women. Granger was scuttling off with her head bowed, and Circe was grinning for no apparent reason.  
  
I blinked, and felt myself wanting to scream again. I caught a glimpse of the dark corridor with the door at the end, and this time, instead of the child screaming, I head a woman's scream, shrill and painful, piercing the imaginary air.  
  
If not for Circe, I would have collapsed on the spot.  
  
"You're two steps closer to your inner self," she said, touching me on the shoulder and brining me back to reality. My eyes shot open, and I let out a gasping breath. "You're closer than you even think you are."  
  
(A/N: Sorry; it was long, again! I didn't intend for it to be, but I just keep getting carried away. Anyway, I have been VERY busy lately. I found time to type this at night, lol. I still don't think I'm satisfied with it, especially the Quidditch part. My writing royally sucks there, but oh well. Try and make sense of everything here! I dropped a LOT of hints at what is to come. Try and think of one of the spoilers that J.K. released for book five! I stole one of her ideas, and added my own twist, Mwahahaha! Well, tell me what you think of this chapter.) 


	9. Happy Holidays

(A/N: *Wipes tears from eyes* Aw, you guys are the greatest! Thanks for the nice reviews! I'll try to make this chapter with more answers than questions. Oh, the thing EVERYONE is waiting for happens in this chapter!  
  
ACK! What happened to all the reviews that people left! Half of the recent ones disappeared! *Cries* Well, we can all review some more and make up for it next time! You all left me good reviews; I appreciate that!)  
  
Chapter Nine  
  
The day before the start of the Christmas holidays I found myself sitting in Circe's Defense Against the Dark Arts class, looking forward to Double Potions later on in the day. At the moment, Circe was quizzing us on what we had learned about our inner selves, the best defense against the Dark Arts.  
  
"Mister Malfoy, tell me the most fascinating element you have learned in this semester of classroom activity." Circe said softly, so that I barely heard her. Her emerald eyes were burning into mine, and I felt very vulnerable at that moment. "That is if you have learned but a thing this portion of the school year."  
  
I racked my brain. I knew quite well that we were being graded on this bit of class participation, so I sighed deeply and said, "I am absolutely enthralled that we each have two inner selves, and that the selves may be separated, but at a cost." Hey, it was one of the things Circe liked to say while looking directly at me.  
  
"Precisely," she said smoothly. I could feel another lecture coming on. "In the era of the Dark Wizard Grindewald, I can recall the way Grindewald was trying to dominate the population. He was separating people from their good selves, causing their moral ethics to flee, and letting their inner evils out, so they could faithfully serve him. It was a cruel time. You're lucky you were not alive to experience it."  
  
I raised my hand. "But you can't have been around for it, either," I said, wrinkling my nose at her. "That was over a hundred years ago!" I added, looking into Circe's young face. "You can't be older than twenty- five!"  
  
Circe grinned in such a manner that the hairs on the back of my neck stood on their end. "Looks can be deceiving," she said simply. I thought that would be all she would tell us, as she never revealed much information about herself. "I am actually several thousands of years old, and I am not a regular human witch or wizard, as you all are."  
  
"Then what are you?" I nearly snapped. But Circe answered that question herself.  
  
"I am an enchantress." She said. "I am immortal, unless I am slain." She looked rather dejected at this. "But I cannot die of a natural cause, say. Such as old age, a disease that plagues every human. I will never suffer from that, my students. But you will have to take care with your lives. You haven't forever to live."  
  
As it always seemed to happen, the bell rang, just as Circe wanted to say something she considered important. I had no choice but to follow the flow of Slytherins exiting the classroom, as Circe pursed her lips, looking (for the first time I had ever seen) frustrated.  
  
~*~  
  
The last Potions class before the winter holidays started was probably the most enjoyable of the whole year. There were a number of reasons to add to this factor. For starters, Longbottom had to taste his own Transparence Solution, and all that I gathered before he was sent to the Hospital Wing, was that his hands were sticking through his skull. It was just the thing to cheer me up.  
  
Apart from Gryffindor losing fifty more points, there was one other thing that really brought a smile to my face. As I flipped through the pages of my Potions book, to look up the ingredients fro my potion, I noticed a small, neatly folded piece of paper. It was a note, written in the neatest writing I had ever seen.  
  
Dear Draco Malfoy,  
You know me as Juliet, and I did, for a while, I knew you as Romeo. But while keeping this in mind, also know that I know whom you are, and I am not entirely sure if you know who I really am. But if you wish to find out, then I suggest you meet me in the North Rose garden at midnight tonight.  
Yours truly,  
Juliet  
  
My heart skipped a few beats. I found it hard to concentrate on potions the rest of that lesson, and I would not have been surprised if my potion was as bad as Longbottom's was. She knew who I was. How did she find out? My mind was filled with questions, and then I calmed down to think about things logically.  
  
Circe had figured it out. If she could narrow down the selection, then anyone probably could have. Why did I have such rich fabric? I needed to have a vague idea who this girl was before I met her. It had to be someone in this room; who else could have slipped the note in my book?  
  
I glanced at all the females in the room. I knew who all the Slytherins had gone as, that left. Oh I couldn't bear to think of that! The girl was a Gryffindor. And at that moment, I saw, staring very blankly across the room. it was  
  
~*~  
  
The wildest waves of emotions were drowning me the moment I set foot in the Rose garden that evening. The most massive tidal wave of all was doubt trying to wipe me out, as I tried to inhale the fresh oxygen that was truth and fairness. Would I suffice, or would I drown?  
  
The dark sheet of velvet sky was dotted with miniscule diamond stars, flanked by a full silver moon to set light to my pale skin. The air was cool, and I could not resist a shiver before I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders. Each cluster of roses cast a shadow on the cold, solid ground. It was a beautiful, clear night.  
  
True to her word, there she was, staring at her petite hands through her paranormal mask she had invented. The mask still depicted her emotions; at the moment, though, I had no way of ever starting to decipher the look plastered on her face, so to speak. She, like I, was wearing her school robes, and had a cloak draped lazily over her shoulders.  
  
For a fleeting second all of my insides jumped when I looked at her badge, wildly hoping that all my guesses and speculations had been wrong, letting the badge read, "Slytherin," across the front, decorated with a silver and green serpent.  
  
But it said, "Gryffindor." All of my speculations had been confirmed so far, what would there be to prove me wrong? The answer to that question, my friend, was that nothing so far had done anything to tell me I was wrong. Nothing.  
  
"Hello," said her smooth, liquidly voice. I suddenly felt very uncomfortable standing there in front of her, leaving myself very open to a potential emotional wound. "If I'm correct, you now know who I am as well." She added again, looking at me through the mask.  
  
I nodded, as though I had laryngitis and could not speak. But all of my guesses and theories had just pieced themselves totally together for me, like one big jigsaw puzzle. Like me, she had to have gotten the idea for her costume from Circe's classes. That meant she had to be a fifth year to have had that lesson. I knew what all the Slytherin girls had gone to the Masquerade as. Only a Gryffindor, then, could have slipped the note in my Potions book.  
  
The badge on her chest confirmed her house. Now, there was only one girl clever enough to think about who "Romeo" had been, and correctly figure it out. And that could only be:  
  
"Hello, Granger," I said, surprised at the serenity of my own drawling, cold voice. But though my voice was calm, I was willing to bet my Millennium that my facial expressions were giving way to how angry I looked that my guess had been correct. "Who would have thought? The Mudblood had an interesting costume."  
  
For several moments there was a silence and the tension was so thick that it could not have even been cut with the sharpest knife. Granger decided to break it. "I, well," she cut herself off. "I thought you were someone else!" She spat at me.  
  
"I wasn't expecting to see you, either!" I snapped back, equally livid. Hermione Granger looked down at her lap, still silent. "Who did you think I was, then?" I asked, crossing my arms across my chest and looking down at her.  
  
"Ron Weasley," She said quietly. "At least that's who I was hoping you were," she added. For an elongated moment, I was too stunned to speak. Hermione Granger, or all people, had confused me with WEASLEY?  
  
"Weasley!" I thundered, going off a tangent. I could feel the color rising to my face, and I could see the steam of my hot breath disappearing slowly in the cold night air. "You thought WEASLEY would be able to afford a costume like mine? I thought you were supposed to be a genius, but obviously, you aren't!"  
  
Quicker than I ever could have fathomed, Hermione rose to her feet, standing on the tips of her toes. I had to admit that the current emotion filling my heart was none other than fear itself. The last time Granger had gone off in a rage, I had gotten slapped. The thought of being slapped by a Mudblood was enough to scare any Slytherin.  
  
"I'll have you know that Fred and George and Harry all lost money gambling with Ron! Ron won a good sum of money off those three and he had more than enough to buy a costume like yours and have some left over! He never told me what he was going to the Masquerade as. But I finally figured out who you really were because you were stupid enough to talk about it with Professor Circe, after your Quidditch match!"  
  
To my great surprise and eternal relief, I felt no sharp tingling anywhere on my face. I had not been slapped. But Granger had started off to leave, in a towering rage. However, she could not resist having one last go at me, while I was silently gaping in shock at her.  
  
"This just PROVES what a piece of SCUM you really are! I thought that since you managed to behave yourself at the Masquerade like a good boy, that you might have been able to remain civil long enough to set things straight! Obviously, I was wrong! You judge people only by their heritage, family, house, and looks! One day, Malfoy, I hope that comes back to bite you!"  
  
With that, she was off.  
  
Well, what did you expect? Hugs and kisses?  
  
~*~  
  
They say there's no place like home for the holidays, but I beg to differ. I'm sure there are a lot of filthy rich families that throw private parties for other elite families. That was exactly where I had found myself on the eve of Christmas, dressed up in ornamental robes of green velvet, sitting on a bar stool, with my elbows propped on the bar counter, holding up my chin.  
  
For the first time in my life, I had realized something of vast importance. It was one of the contributing factors to the way I often felt miserable with myself, and with others as well. It was something that I had tried to hide from for fifteen years; something that Hermione Granger had struck as obvious.  
  
I had no real friends.  
  
It was true. All I had were Crabbe and Goyle, who could hardly be counted as friends, who served as menservants most of the time, stupidly guffawing at my jokes, which they probably did not quite understand, anyway. There was Pansy Parkinson, who worshiped me for the most part, but I couldn't stand her. She was annoying, and there was no way to describe her, other than to say her face looked like that of those ugly little pug dogs.  
  
And until this moment, I had not noticed how unhappy I was. Was this the result of all my nastiness and willingness to take control over others? Of course it was. I knew that eventually, I would have to come to a choice between power and friendship. I would never be able to break free from the threshold of power that had been branded in my brain. It was my way of life, trying to control others, and doing my best to bring them sorrow.  
  
I frowned, and left the party straight away. I needed time to think myself over. Was life without real friends really worth living? With that thought, I collapsed on my bed, off again in a fitful sleep.  
  
~*~  
  
The cold darkness that was so familiar had again washed over my body, taking my breath away, leaving me shivering and empty. I still had my consciousness (or did I? Was it still the same menacing dream?), but I felt as if I would rather let all the life drain out of my body than let myself live on in the cold, dark, soul-sucking place I was at.  
  
My head was spinning as I found myself in the all-too-familiar spot between the pastel room with the table, and the darkened corridor with the illuminated door. Seemingly frozen in my spot with my feet glued to the floor, I looked again to the small pastel room, and again to the darkness that was trying to overcome me.  
  
At that moment, as if pulling my left leg from a bucket of thickening glue, I took a step towards the illuminated door. Then dragging my other foot, I struggled forward. Do you remember when you were little, the way you tried to run in the water when you were swimming? This is what the task was like, only a thousand times worse. Imagine breath being very short, and having cement blocks on your feet, while trying to run from a Dementor that is trying to suck out your soul as you cling to your life with feeble hands.  
  
I felt as if I were being torn apart, limb from limb, as I immerged myself deeper and deeper down the corridor, and at the very moment I thought my eyeballs were ready to explode, relief washed over me, and I gasped for a breath. I had reached the illuminated area directly in front of the door.  
  
But I had no emotional consolation in the lighted area. In fact, all my deep, dark fears seemed to be multiplied a thousand times greater than what they really were. A piercing scream filled the light air where I was standing, and caused me to freeze. It was a child screaming, like in the first dream I had. There was something chilling and foreboding about it that made me cringe, and open my mouth to scream bloody murder.  
  
The screaming did not stop; it was soon joined by more voices, which I heard loud and clear, and some seemed to be screaming, "Draco!" Perhaps I was delusional in my bout with this terror, but I did what any person would do, and groped for the handle on the door, desperately hoping I would be led somewhere warm.  
  
My hands both clasped the cool chrome metal, slipping every which way; I just realized that I had been sweating gallons. I gasped for more air, realizing that it was okay to breathe again, as I hastily wiped my hands on my robes. Again trying so desperately to turn the handle, I realized that the door was locked. I ran my fingers across the outline of the keyhole, cursing fate.  
  
I took a step backward, and it felt as if a ton of bricks had settled in on my chest, as I hit the floor with a force that I did not think was possible to land on, and till be alive, feeling the beating of my heart rapidly increasing. The familiar sickness wiped over me again, and I felt the room spinning. spinning. I thought I was alone.  
  
How was I supposed to know that a boy called Harry Potter was having the same dream?  
  
(A/N: I bet I made you all just plain furious, didn't I? Heh, that's my style. I don't really see Hermione and Draco together as a realistic couple, but hey, who knows, you might see more of them later in this fic, if I continue after Order of the Phoenix comes out. Okay, does the dream make a little more sense, now? The door is locked. You need a key to open a locked door. Think about that one!  
  
Okay, well, I'm a bit indecisive about that chapter, too. Now I have a new thing. Order of the Phoenix comes out on Saturday. I don't know, but that might kill this story, since it takes place in 5th year. My accounts will surely be different than J.K. Rowling's (the genius!) are. So, um, I think perhaps I'll wait until I finish the book to write more of this, unless I can write a whole chapter before Saturday. But I do hope that OotP won't mean that this is the end of "Dragon" Well, tell me what you think about this? Shall I continue with my account of this, even though it will be different than the REAL version?) 


	10. Family Matters?

(A/N: Sorry it took so long; I was on vacation, and reading OotP!  
  
Well, after carefully trying to figure out how to carry this on, I have come to a verdict. Since you're all so kind to me by reviewing, and reading the story, and formulating your own theories as to what may happen with my writing, that I have decided to take a bit of a detour around Order of the Phoenix. So I will have this story going, though I may go back and alter a few minor events to make them correspond with OotP.  
  
I'll have my own different smaller climax, which I will write. The OotP version will still happen and the death will be the same, I'm just going to write *around* it. So my version will still carry on, but the death will still be the same.  
  
Oh, and I suppose that I should warn you, if you have not read Order of the Phoenix, there will be a few spoilers here and there, you know. So read OotP then read this if you wanna be surprised with the spoilers!)  
  
Chapter Ten  
  
The holidays dawned their usual cheer amongst the wizarding world, though as always, it conveniently remembered to forget Malfoy Manor. The cold stone interior and marble floors could not have been any less welcoming to me, the morning I rolled out of my bed, feeling the far off warmth of the fire across the room. I was still wearing my beautiful green velvet robes from the night before, and my sleek hair was a tousled mess. But the way I looked was nothing compared to the way I felt.  
  
A throbbing pain had settled itself in my temples, pounding at my brain, and making my vision blurred so that I could see no father than three feet in front of me. My limbs ached like nothing fathomable, as I groped for something to hold so I could keep what little balance I was left with. My stomach gave the occasional lurch, as if I were on a boat and kept getting thrown forward.  
  
It took several moments until I was able to regain control over my own aching body. I was just in time, making myself presentable, for mother to burst into the room, with her face mixed with terror and a mad delight. For what I could remember as the first time in a long time, she smiled at me. Her smile seemed so hollow and empty, yet it illuminated her thin face.  
  
"The Death Eaters are plotting something," she said. For a minute, I thought I saw what looked like fright etched across her thin features. "Something to destroy Potter and free those who rest in Azkaban." She lowered her voice then to a whisper, and said, "To bring the Dark Lord into the public."  
  
For a short moment, as my brain struggled to grasp what she had said, I knew this was the first time in years that mother had looked truly delighted. Her face was glowing with pride and valor that used to glow when she watched me do impressive things in front of other people as a child. But I did not know why breaking open Azkaban would bring to my mother such glowing fortitude. How did this directly concern her? Mother soon answered this question, though only vaguely.  
  
"Bella." She said breathlessly. "Your Aunt Bellatrix, Dragon."  
  
"Who?" I asked in reply, having not the slightest clue what my mother meant.  
  
"My sister, Bellatrix!" Mother said, rising to her feet. "The only other that was not blasted from the Black family tapestry." If she had thought this statement would clarify things, she was gravely mistaken; I was thrown even farther into the deep pool of misunderstanding. Mother looked at me compassionately, her old sadness chiseling a look back into her face.  
  
"My maiden name is Black." She said slowly, suddenly pondering why she had never told me her family history. My mouth formed a confused line. "Yes, as in Sirius Black. He's my second cousin. We were a family of honor, and were of the purest blood in Britain. My branch of the large family consisted of my mother, father, my three sisters, and me. My sister- " She broke of deciding not to say the name of one of her siblings. "One married a Muggle man called Tonks, and produced a daughter whom they called Nymphadora. She's several years older than you now, and is an Auror."  
  
Mother didn't seem too pleased about her sister's path. "Needless to say, she was blasted off the tapestry that hangs in the old Black Mansion, somewhere in London." She paused, and a look of reverie crossed her pale face. "Your aunt, Nabila," mother said, letting me call to mind the images of my cousins Fayre and Rafe, whom I hated with a passion. Fayre had given me glasses, Harry Potter style, for my birthday. "Is my half sister, meaning she has a different father than I do."  
  
Father never mentioned Aunt Nabila and her children; he hated them. Mother, however, did not seem to mind. I was expecting to hear why mother did not dislike her half sister for marrying someone who was not pureblooded or from Slytherin house, but she carried on with what she was saying.  
  
"Then there was Bellatrix." To aid my mind in production of what Bellatrix might look like, I took a good look at my mother, and imagined her to have long blonde hair, a gaunt pointed face, and a small nose that curved downward at the tip. I imagined her to have more lively blue eyes than mother's.  
  
I was mistaken. Mother produced from nowhere a portrait of two girls that appeared to be around the ages of sixteen and seventeen, sitting next to each other solemnly, sneering down at something that was not visible within the limited frame. The girl on the right was obviously my mother. Her long blonde hair swept down her back, and her eyebrows arched upward, laughing.  
  
The pretty girl next to her, presumably Bellatrix, had long, dark hair that fell in sheets casting shadows on her thin face as she looked down at her lap, then looked up again, dark eyes flashing menacingly. Her eyebrows were narrowed, and she whispered something to my mother in the portrait, sniggering madly. Her thin, pursed lips split into a malevolent grin as she looked up at me. She was tall and very slender, and though she was very pretty, her eyes held a rather dull look about them.  
  
"Bellatrix followed the path I took, marrying a respectable pureblood man from a wealthy family." Mother looked longingly at the picture. "Lestrange, he was called." She said. "They joined the ranks of Voldemort, and to this day have been loyal to his dark hand."  
  
Mother cast a suddenly nervous look around the room and said, "Unlike your father, she did not try to weasel her way out of Azkaban. She was loyal. She held her own ground, and did not do what was best for her, but what the Dark Lord would have wanted."  
  
I remained silent. This was the first time I had heard mother speak openly about what she thought of father. Was this why father was cruel to her, because she thought her sister was more loyal than she was? But this I never got to ponder any longer, as I had been hit, for the billionth time in the past week, with a horrible force, making it hard to breathe.  
  
Mother had thrown herself at me, and had grabbed me so tightly that I was gasping for breath. The mother that was so familiar had returned. She was soaking my shoulder with her tears, as she muttered inaudible words under her breath, occasionally gasping and looking up at me.  
  
"My little Dragon," she said, tearing away from me like we were each part Velcro. "Don't ever join the Death Eaters," she whispered violently. "It's dangerous."  
  
I even allowed her to kiss me on the cheek, still sloshing tears down her cheeks, as she left the room sobbing madly. I fell purposely backwards onto my soft bed, looking at the green and silver canopy above me. Why was everything in my life so complicated? One minute, mother was completely sane, and the next she becomes a raving lunatic.  
  
Was I the next to lose my sanity?  
  
~*~  
  
At last the elongated Christmas holiday came to a halt. It was a good thing, as well, because I did not think I could have stood for another day in the dreary cold dungeon rooms of Malfoy Manor, where I had taken to making potions in all my spare time, practicing for my O.W.L. in Potions.  
  
Keeping to myself was my new way of coping with my emotions, which I was not aware lurked deep inside my soul. Before, I had accepted the fact that I was cruel, and that it ran in the family. It was my destiny to follow in my father's footsteps, and to ensure that my future son or daughter would do the same. There would be no Malfoy veering to the path of righteousness. Not to mention, from what mother had said, righteousness was not a prized trait among Blacks, either.  
  
So with a new family history to fill my brain, I began the second part of the school term. To add to the level of stress, O.W.L homework was being impounded in our brains, and Circe had decided it was at last time to put some intensity into our lessons; we were learning magic. And it was difficult magic, at that.  
  
Just as soon as she announced we would be learning magic, there was a rustling about the classroom as everyone fished in their bags for their wands. As soon as I had drawn my wand, looking at it fondly, I heard a crack of thunder from outside and caught lightning flashing from the corner of my eye. Circe was looking rather bemused at our actions, which were only natural.  
  
"You may kindly put those away," she said softly, smiling.  
  
As it always was, I spoke up. "But Professor, you need a wand to perform high-quality and controlled magic."  
  
"Mr. Malfoy," she said, looking directly at me. "Do you expect to always have your wand when you are in a situation that could bring mortal peril?" The class was silent. "You need to be prepared for what may happen when you are wandless-and seemingly helpless.  
  
"This is some of the most difficult magic that exists, as Mr. Malfoy mentioned, it is hard to control. You need strong mental capacity to manage control over yourself. Control over your emotions are key in this magic, and you also need to reflect back upon what you were taught before Christmas."  
  
It was the most difficult lesson ever. Without our wand at hand, we were asked to produce a Shielding Charm around ourselves. Needless to say, no one succeeded in this great feat. But the look on Circe's face as we all walked out of the classroom told us that she had clearly expected someone to.  
  
And I had a sneaking suspicion that one person was me.  
  
~*~  
  
The other, um, memorable moment of the day plagued us all in Potions. Our Switching Solutions boiled hot in the cauldrons, though not all were burning correctly, as was typical with the dunderheads in our class. Only Granger's potion and mine was radiating the orange glow that it was supposed to be radiating.  
  
Though some would often argue that I only had good grades in Potions because Snape liked me, I assure you that I do have a knack for potion making the way Potter has a knack for attracting the Dark Lord. There was something that came incredibly easy to me about mixing potions up that could do anything under the sun. All you needed to be able to do was follow instructions.  
  
I poured a small amount of my potion into the vial for Snape, grinning to myself. I would get at "Outstanding" in my O.W.L. for sure. A sense of almost pity filled my chest as I looked at Potter, who was standing next to me with a bottle of red Switching Solution, instead of orange. How could someone be so inept at Potions?  
  
I didn't have any other chance to wonder this, as I had crashed into something rather soft, and fell on my backside, Switching Solution flying in the air, getting closer and closer to the floor. I scrambled to my knees and reached out a hand to grab it. At that precise moment, another hand did exactly the same thing, reaching for a red bottle. Our hands collided, and there was a loud smash.  
  
I coughed, as my glasses hit the floor and shattered.  
  
Wait a minute! GLASSES?!  
  
~*~  
  
(A/N: Ah, that was pretty short. Sorry about that; I kept you waiting all that time and typed such a short chapter. I left another cliffie, too! Don't you just love me? Well, anyway, now you know a little more about Narcissa!  
  
If you'd like to read my other story, "Until Death do us Part," about Lily and James, and some memories (I'll have to revise it, I think, because I started it before OotP), you can do that too!  
  
Well, I am thinking about writing another story, this one about Bellatrix when she was in school. I don't know why, but I think her character is very intriguing. Even though she did the "one thing" (I don't wanna spoil it for those who haven't read it yet) near the end of the book.  
  
Oh, and also, I've started the plot line for the sequel to "Dragon," which I will write when I'm finished with this story. It'll be called "Bad Faith" so look for it as soon as "Dragon" has ended!  
  
Okay, now that I'm finished with that bit of shameless advertising, I'll let you go back to your lives, after you hit the review button. My friends! Ta ta!  
  
--Cayr) 


	11. Power Failure

(A/N: Heh, glad you liked that. *Grins evilly* as always, a big thank you to all my reviewers! Love you guys! Imaginary cookies for all!)  
  
Chapter Eleven  
  
My brain suddenly went numb, as my hands grasped the glasses that had just fallen off my nose. My heart was beating so hard that I thought it was going to explode, as I pricked my finger on a shard of broken glass, though I did not seem to feel it. My mind was focused on something else at that moment. Something I did not want to happen.  
  
"Give me my glasses back, Malfoy!" I looked over at Potter, and a wave of relief washed over me like a dip in the pool on a hot summer day. Potter was on his knees across from me, groping for his glasses. There was now a plausible explanation of why his glasses were on my face before they had fallen. His switching solution was so feeble, that instead of switching the two of us, all it had been able to accomplish was switching his glasses to my eyes.  
  
I tossed Potter's glasses on the floor in front of him, and regaining dignity, I stood up gallantly and brushed off my robes. "Oh, Draco, you're bleeding!" Pansy Parkinson cried, rushing forward to look at my left hand, which was gushing blood from the palm and a few fingers. I had let my hand rest on some shattered glass from Potter's vial and glasses.  
  
I sent him a glare, and snatched up my unharmed vial, set it on Snape's desk, and marched out of the classroom, letting Pansy follow after me with my bag and books. Sometimes it was useful to have people that worship you, even if they aren't your true friends. But, hey, maybe she wasn't that bad, after all.  
  
Who was I kidding? She was annoying. And that was that.  
  
~*~  
  
"Mister Malfoy, your wand," said the pleasantly misty voice of Circe. Her outstretched hand was in front of me, waiting for me to surrender my wand to her. Not managing to surpass a painful sort of grimace, I slapped my wand into her palm and crossed my arms defiantly across my chest. Circe grinned. "You know the drill."  
  
I sighed and submissively rose from my seat, making my way to the front of the classroom. I could feel he gaze of the whole class resting upon me as I cracked my knuckles nervously. Across from me, Circe looked calm, cool, and collective. The grin gracing her thin lips suggested that she was deeply enjoying the experiences of these lessons; all she did was hex the students while we stood totally defenseless against her. She was an Enchantress, who did not need a wand, even for extremely difficult magic; we were just students.  
  
"Ready?" She asked, her voice layered in that sweetly processed tone of malice. Even though I was not ready, and never felt that I would be, I nodded, feeling that lump in my throat rise again. My mind tried, it really did, to will the magic flowing through my veins to stop he blast of purple sparks from hitting me, or at least o dilute it in the slightest way.  
  
No avail.  
  
I was hit full on with a blast, and knocked to my backside, with a harp pain ringing in my tailbone. Then, to my dismay, I started to giggle like a giddy little girl in a doll shop at Christmas time. In the blur of classmates, I could hear Celeste's cold laugh ringing out. I giggled harder.  
  
"All right, now." Came Circe's mellow voice, sounding slightly amused. I stopped giggling at once and sprang to my feet, ready. "I'll have one more go at Mister Malfoy, then you will each have your turn thereafter," she said again. That wrought silence upon the entire class. Just once more, then it was my turn to laugh at them. "Remember, Mister Malfoy, to concentrate."  
  
The thought of laughter soon left my mind, as I saw Circe straighten up to her full height and lift her arms. The sleeves of her long dress fluttered as if there were a breeze blowing them. From there on, something amazing and baffling happened. It was as if time were crawling forward at a snail's pace, and only I could break the spell of slothfulness.  
  
Then everything came naturally. I raised my hands as Circe had done, and immediately following, a silver aura of light expanded out from my fingertips crawling out to encompass my whole body in a force field of bright light. Time sped back up to normal pace, and a jet of orange light echoed off my newly formed force field, hitting Circe square in the chest. She started to wheeze.  
  
Before the class had a chance to ridicule her, she wheezed something foreign and straightened herself up, positively beaming at me. She was glowing with a sense of pride, as if I were her own son, learning how to do magic for the first time.  
  
"Ten points to Slytherin," she said. "And full marks to Mister Malfoy, who has soared above and beyond my goals for this class." She grinned at the class as I settled back into my seat, looking for her next victim. Her emerald eyes fell on my two cronies. "Mister Goyle, step right up. . ."  
  
It had been a long time since I had felt as elated as I was feeling at that time. Predictably, both Crabbe and Goyle proved to be inept at magic, and were transfigured into a wide array of small furry mammals each. I was far too happy at that moment to recall my own experience as a small white ferret, compliments of that nutter Mad Eye Moody imposter.  
  
To my greatest pleasure, Celeste had met a great downfall. She had been hit hard with a nosebleed charm, and had fallen backwards, ripping her robes and gushing blood everywhere. Her blonde hair looked unkempt, and her blue eyes flashed with rage. Even though Circe had set her right again, I couldn't help but laughing as she glared at me from across the room.  
  
That had been one of those rare class periods where I was deeply disenchanted to hear the bell ring.  
  
~*~  
  
A light breeze played with the Quidditch robes I wore. The sun was shining brightly down on me as I tightened my grip on my Millennium. The weather was perfect for a Quidditch match, which was lucky, because it just happened to be that time. Though it was just the end of January, the weather seemed unnaturally pleasant and warm, leaving the lawn slightly slushy. But the ground did not matter; we were playing in the air.  
  
Our opponent was Ravenclaw. They had already arranged themselves on the ground, as the hawk-eyed Madam Hooch waited for the Slytherin team to assemble on the slushy ground. I held my head high and aligned myself in my rightful spot across from the Ravenclaw seeker, a girl called Cho Chang. She was about a head shorter than I was, and had long black hair that she had tied neatly back into a long ponytail. It had been rumored that she was now seeing Potter, since Diggory was dead. Talk about shameless. . .  
  
Madam Hooch's whistle sounded, and I jetted into the air, on immediate lookout for the snitch. This time, unlike the last, I would not waste my time shouting insults, as I always did to Potter. That, I believed, was the reason that I had yet to beat Harry Potter. I was not focused on the game.  
  
I swerved to the left, nearly colliding with Chang, who shot me an angry look, as if I did not know how to fly properly. I bit my lip, not allowing myself to snap a cheeky comment about Diggory dying. Instead, I veered to the right, to go to the opposite end of the field, to seek out the snitch,  
  
Big mistake, as it turned out.  
  
On the side opposite me, Change had pulled into a smooth dive, closely tailing something gold and shiny.  
  
Even though I streaked wildly across the field, I was far too late. Even though I owned the best broom in the world, Cho Chang was waving the blasted Snitch above her head in light of the Ravenclaw victory. The game had not even lasted five minutes. I hadn't stood a chance.  
  
Most of the stadium was cheering madly, celebrating that Slytherin had met our downfall. The Gryffindors were applauding louder than even Ravenclaws, as this left their path to the cup almost totally clear. They had only to beat Ravenclaw now, as they had massacred Hufflepuff shortly before Christmas. Then surely victory was theirs.  
  
It was a depressing thought. So depressing, in fact, that I left the pitch with only a visit to the locker room to lock my broomstick in safety. I punched my fist into my palm in a rage, and hid beneath the stands until everyone had cleared out.  
  
It seemed such a terrible waste of my happiness. Just a week before, I was so pleased with myself for performing magic without a wand. Only the day before, I had done it again! Now there I was, unable to beat a girl at Quidditch. Potter's girlfriend, to make things even worse.  
  
And I was sulking about it.  
  
~*~  
  
With the return of Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, my Quidditch woes diminished quickly. Again, I was the only one able to throw off Circe's charms, though Celeste was coming dangerously close to being able to repel Enchantress magic. She had been able to reduce several curses to a light mist, which had barely any effect over her at all.  
  
It had been another satisfying lesson, I thought to myself as the bell rang. "Mister Malfoy," Circe's voice rang like church bells in my ears, and I felt her soft hand resting on my shoulder. A pleasant chill ran up my spine; that pleasantly chilling good kind of chill. I froze in my spot as the class spilled out of the classroom. "I think," She said slowly. I knew she was going to tell me how impressed she was with all that I had accomplished the past few weeks.  
  
"I think it's time you see Professor Snape so that you may return Mister Potter his magic."  
  
*  
  
Needless to say, I was feeling more dejected than ever, the night I dragged myself down to Professor Snape's dungeons. I had been so happy with myself, for being able to execute magic without a wand, and all this time it had been Potter's magical talents, not mine.  
  
I really was useless, after all. I wasn't even good at Quidditch; I was only on the team because father bought everyone new brooms. I couldn't even beat a depressed girl at the ruddy sport, which probably made Potter especially, as she was his depressed girlfriend.  
  
I had arrived at the large wooden door leading into Snape's dungeons. Another thought panged me. I was only getting good grades in Potions because Snape was head of Slytherin house, and knew father well.  
  
I was a useless waste of space. Now I knew why father needed to be cruel sometimes. He needed to be, because he did everything for mother and I. He made sure we got what we needed. He welcomed us into his home. He made sure I got good marks. He made sure I was on the Quidditch team. He was the reason I was succeeding in life.  
  
I heard footsteps pattering down the corridor. Potter was soon at my side, scowling with a look that seemed to be a look between pleasure, pity, and hatred, and the sight of me. "Let's just get this over with, Malfoy,' he said through gritted teeth. My hatred for him was so great that at that moment I only nodded.  
  
I raised my hand to the wooden door, poised to knock. That was the moment I heard voices.  
  
Snape was the first to speak. "They cannot know of it, Circe," he said. I looked sideways to Potter, who looked just as baffled as I felt. I leaned in closer, interested. My hand remained poised. "It would ruin everything!"  
  
Circe's misty voice echoed throughout. "But Misters Potter and Malfoy are standing outside the door, listening to every word we say, Severus," Circe said. I lowered my poised hand. "They would light their rightful magic back."  
  
~*~  
  
(A/N: Don't you just hate me?! And here you were, thinking Malfoy and Harry had switched places! Tee hee, it's so fun to be the author. Anyway, the Defense Against the Dark Arts power-switching thing was inspired by Thistle, who left a review that possessed me to write that part. I was originally going to have Draco running around hexing random things with Harry's magic, but I liked that idea better! I love it when you guys review like that. :)  
  
Okay, now what's up with Circe and Snapey? Heh, I'll give anyone who can guess an "Imaginary Clearly Clayr Dollar!"  
  
And also, that chapter was a little short, because I can't wait to write the next chapter! ^_^ If anyone has the slightest idea of what I may be doing (Hint: This does not involve Circe and Snape) a MILLION "Clearly Clayr Dollars," which you can redeem at any Clearly Clayr store near you!  
  
Waa hoo! I'm so excited! I love being struck by ideas!) 


	12. Valentine's Rain and Sunshine

(A/N: Ah, yes, after carefully containing my excitement, I have reached this chapter. As I'm sure you realized from my Author's Notes the last chapter, something is going to happen, or rather, several things are. And yes, there is a reason behind the rhyme (even if it doesn't rhyme), so just stick with me, as not all will be explained here. Well, without further ado . . .  
  
Note: Sorry about the format of this! I can't get it to be normal! No matter what I do, it just won't cooperate with me!)  
  
Chapter Twelve  
  
To my surprise, the door to the dungeon creaked open slowly, and I could see Snape shuffling away from Circe, who looked calm and serene, with her arms crossed elegantly over her chest. The torches that lit the room flickered behind her, illuminating her tall stately figure, creating an eerie glow about her skin. Next to her, Snape stood, but I was unable to read his expression, as it was already starting to mingle with hatred at the sight of Potter.  
  
"Good evening, Mister Malfoy," said Circe lightly. "And Mister Potter." She nodded to Harry, uncrossing her arms and surveying us both closer, as if trying to see how much of the conversation we had heard. Snape was throwing a look of extreme loathing at Potter, as if he knew he was eavesdropping on purpose. "I see that you are here for your rightful talents," Circe added, casting a dark look to Snape.  
  
Neither Potter nor I dared to speak. I nodded, and I could tell with a wayward glance to my side, that Potter was nodding as well. Snape heaved a sigh much like that of a depressed dog, and spun around with a flourish of black robes to retrieve something that was a sort of orange-ish color, bubbling slightly.  
  
"I have come to the conclusion that since Potter's potion was so feeble," Snape said diabolically, a grin playing about his lips as he looked at Potter. "That all we need to do is splash you each with a bit of it, and all will be normal. Simple logic, Mister Potter."  
  
I grinned, as if I had known all along. Potter was looking very irritated, as he rolled his eyes. Circe tilted her head curiously at him then straightened herself when she noticed I was watching her. Before I could winkle my brow at her, Snape had thrust a small vial of red potion into my hands, and another into Potter's. The Potions Master then took a few steps back.  
  
I turned to Potter, who had his eyes narrowed maliciously at me. I took the topper off my vial. He followed suit. From that point on, we knew what to do with the half filled vials we each had. Since none of my potion had spilled, Snape had filled the vials each had full with Potter's concoction, so we would each get equal sprits.  
  
And that we did. My hatred towards Potter was unleashed as I threw my glass topper on the floor, and as if in slow motion, I unleashed the red liquid. It seemed to take an age to travel the short distance to Potter's face. I could see it starting to bubble as it made contact with his skin. But at that moment, I had also been hit. The burning red-hot concoction dripped off my nose, down the front of my robes.  
  
I felt something changing automatically. Glasses appeared on the end of my nose again, as a jet of green light left my fingertips. I fought back a scream. It was as if part of me were being ripped off. With the absence of whatever the green light was, I felt immediately whole again as a yellow light hit me with such a force that I crumpled to the floor. I flexed my fingers, and opened my eyes, which had closed without my consent, and for the first time in a while, took in the sweet essence of the dungeon.  
  
Snape extended a hand, and I took it. He jerked me to my feet, as Circe pulled Potter from the ground. I savagely tossed him his glasses, which he caught with one hand and pushed up his nose. I stuck my nose in the air with a touch of snobbish elegance. Circe looked as if she were ready to burst out laughing at the two of us, and Snape maintained his serious dark look.  
  
"That's all, Potter, Malfoy," He said quickly. "You may return to your common rooms," he added, casting a sideways glance to Circe, then looking back at me.  
  
"Thank you, Professors," I said, nodding at Circe and Snape. Potter mumbled something that I imagined was a thanks then shuffled hurriedly out the door. I turned to leave, when Circe caught my arm.  
  
"I'll accompany Mister Malfoy to Slytherin," she said to Snape quickly. "Keep everything that I have said in mind, Severus. A pleasant evening to you." She smiled, and nodded to my favorite Professor, gently pushing me out the door. She followed me, and shut the door behind her. I head the distinct sound of something heavy smashing against something else, probably the floor.  
  
"What was that about?" I wasted no time in asking Circe what she had been talking to Snape about. She started to walk faster and carefully pondered what I had just asked her. This gave me time to ponder, as well. What was the beautiful enchantress doing with Severus Snape? What were they keeping a secret? Was it something. . . Personal?  
  
"It is a private business affair, Mister Malfoy," Circe said slowly, choosing her words carefully. "As you may have gathered from what I have told you, I am not fully up to par with the current events of what we face today." She left it simply at that. I did not dare ask more, for there was a hot tone to her voice that made me rethink my curiosity.  
  
About ten more silent minutes of walking followed. I had never appreciated the beauty of the Hogwarts walls until that very moment. Pictures goggled at Circe, and pointed at me as if I were her houself as we traipsed through the many nooks and crannies of the castle's twists and turns. At last, we had found ourselves in front of the Slytherin Common Room.  
  
"Professor?" I said suddenly. Circe looked at me. "Could I ask you to do something?"  
  
"That depends, Mister Malfoy," she said.  
  
"Can you try to hex me, like in class?"  
  
"If that's what you want."  
  
I handed her my wand. She twirled it between her fingers a bit and then tucked it into the depths of her robes. She raised her eyebrows. I nodded, trying to focus all the magic I had flowing through my veins to block whatever spell she was about to send my way. I could feel the magic heating up my body . . . I could feel the confidence welling up inside my chest . . .  
  
I fell to the floor, twitching madly. A stinging sensation was pulsating through my body. My limbs were still twitching. Through blurred vision, I saw a long hand grasp my arm and pull me to my feet.  
  
Normalcy returned to me. Circe still clutched my arm, and let it go abruptly. She was biting her lower lip, looking disappointed. "I'm sorry, Draco," she said, for the first time ever, calling me by my first name. "I know it meant a lot to you."  
  
I nodded. Circe forced a smile, and patted e gingerly on the back as she turned to leave. I let myself into the common room, and as I made my way up to my bed, I felt as if defeat itself was pulling me up the stairs by my ankles.  
  
~*~  
  
Hooray. It was that fateful time of year where all the girls in the castle giggled and blushed profusely every time a half-decent looking male crossed their path. It was the time of year where even the teachers did not fight the giggling spells, and grinning boys who watched the girls across the room. It was the time of year where everything was decorated with sickening frills of pink, red and white.  
  
That's right. It was Valentine's Day. I was thrilled. Note the sarcasm.  
  
And it was also a Hogsmeade Weekend. Had I not locked myself in the dormitories that morning, I would have been keen to get out of the castle to sneak up on kissing couples, to ridicule them. Had I not been wallowing in my own grief, I would have laughed when I saw Cho Chang and Harry Potter walking hand-in-hand as I slowly dragged myself to Hogsmeade.  
  
But at that moment it was not I who was doing the ridiculing. Pansy Parkinson, and all her cronies, along with Celeste and Kayta on the side, had stopped to giggle at Potter and his girlfriend, who were both looking extremely embarrassed. I had to admit, in light of my recent defeats, this made me smile. Potter facing embarrassment was one of those things that automatically guaranteed happiness.  
  
I had lost track of Crabbe and Goyle, as I meandered the streets with none but my own company. Everything was decorated in frills of white, pink, and red, to my displeasure. They clashed in every way with my heavy mood, as I dragged my feet, not smiling, through the streets. So this was what life was like having no real friends. It was lonely. But I should have been used to it, by then, never having a real friend to share secrets with. All I had were Crabbe and Goyle, the intellectual equivalent of a boulder. And that was combining both their brainpower.  
  
The harsh realization of my true life was finally dawning upon me. I was a spoiled rich kid who had no control over the way his father treated the family, who had no friends, no talents, and was currently wallowing in his own grief, wondering what the hell I was going to do with my life. I was slowly drifting away from the fairy tale, materialistic world that I had once lived in. I was coming out of my dream, and facing the harsh, cruel reality.  
  
The sky seemed to be reflecting my mood. It was not a clear, beautiful day. The sky had blackened slightly since morning, and great gray rain clouds drifted by, looking heavier than ever. It was indeed my mood; I felt ready to rain, so to speak. It was as if an enormous weight had settled on my chest again, dragging me down . . . down . . . down . . .  
  
I loosened my cloak as I stepped into Dervish and Banges, not feeling any less enlightened by the ugly hearts that were hanging above me. The store was packed with students busting this way and that, some holding hands, and others in large groups, conversing madly about every subject under the sun. How could they all be so happy?  
  
I suddenly pretended to be very interested in a spellbook. In a flurry, I hastily grabbed it from the table, raising it to hide my face. Very near to me was Hermione Granger, looking rather lonely, with only Loony Luna Lovegood for company. They were examining a rack of magazines, as Luna said, "Daddy will be pleased, don't you think? But this story won't be nearly as big as-"  
  
That girl was a nutter, if I ever saw one. Even Hermione Granger, who I considered to be quite spacey and odd, seemed like the poster girl for normal compared to Luna. I could see Granger shaking her head and rolling her eyes. "They aren't real, Luna!" She exclaimed suddenly. Luna looked downtrodden, but held her head high, looking at Granger as if she were mad. "Honestly . . ."  
  
I grinned, and set my book down. Potter wasn't there to defend Granger. But admittedly, she had proved she could fend for herself. I crossed my arms across my chest, and looked over at she and Luna, who were still looking at the magazine rack with vague interest. Hermione caught sight of me first.  
  
"Bug off, Malfoy." She said firmly. Luna looked up at me with her overly large blue eyes.  
  
"Loony Lovegood and the Great Granger," I sneered. "What are you looking for today?" I looked at Luna. "Jackelopes and other oddities?"  
  
Hermione snorted, throwing me a glance of distinct hatred. "You're pathetic, Malfoy," she added, smiling sweetly. "Just because you don't have any friends doesn't mean you need to seek out those who do and jealously poke fun at them for no good reason."  
  
"Loony here has friends?" I laughed. "And Potter and Weasley hardly count, either." Though my voice was cool and confident, a knife had pierced through my heart. So she realized that I was lonely, too?  
  
"And Crabbe and Goyle could hardly count as boulders," Granger finished, throwing her nose in the air, nodding sharply at me, making her way through the thick crowd, and out the door. I sighed. Maybe that was the reason I didn't have real friends. I wasn't a very civil person. But I just couldn't help myself. They were so vulnerable . . .  
  
After a few moments of shuffling around the crowded shop, I pushed my way through the crowd, and out the door. The darkened sky had started to let its moisture flow freely from the sky. It was raining. And in my opinion, that made for a beautiful day to take a walk. No one else was bound to be outside for long to wonder why I was outside, getting soaked by rain.  
  
Thunder clapped in the distance as I set out in no particular direction. Lightning flashed, and there was another clap of thunder. I sighed, and drew my cloak tighter around my shoulders, as beads of water dripped off my nose. Gooseflesh was starting to rise on my skin; the rain was cold. But did I care? Not really. I just pulled my cloak tighter and walked on.  
  
Someone brushed past me so fast that I was able only to glance the back of his or her cloak. I could hear stifled sobs being issued loudly through the rain's beating and clapping thunder. Curious, I followed this mystery being into a dark alley, knowing quite well what becomes of some idiots who follow others into hallways. It was a chance that I was willing to take.  
  
However, I felt it best to tiptoe slowly down the alley, where the figure was sitting keeled against the wall, face in hands, sobbing like the world was coming to an end. A few words seemed to be jumbled between sobs, here and there, but they were inaudible, given the circumstances.  
  
I slowly reached my hand out, and a tear streaked face looked up at me, obviously startled at my touch. It was a girl. She was very pretty, even through the tears, with her almond shaped brown eyes and Asian face. Her hair showed remains of having once been swept back neatly into a ponytail, as shards of onyx colored hair draped into her face elegantly framing the gentle facial structure. Her tears had suddenly stopped, and she looked suddenly very startled to see me. I suppose that was justified. Of all people, what would Draco Malfoy be doing kneeled down by a girl who was crying, alone in an alleyway? And let alone, what would he be doing with Cho Chang?  
  
"Is something wrong?" I tried, letting go of her arm, suddenly feeling very awkward. I leaned against the wall, sighing deeply. She looked over at me, and then looked down at her knees, which she had pulled tightly to her chest.  
  
"No, I was just . . ." Cho broke off for words, searching her mind for a good lie. "Well," she said, noticing that I looked slightly downtrodden as well. "Harry Potter." She said finally. I felt something leap, inside of my heart. It was a surge of cruelty, and a surge of having something currently at the moment that Potter did not have.  
  
"He causes a lot of problems, doesn't he?" I asked smoothly. She nodded. "He only seems to care about himself sometimes, you know? Just Potter, Weasley, and Granger, they're all immune to rules."  
  
Cho's face brightened. She sniffled, and looked over at me. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, you're totally right." She added, grimacing bravely. "I don't know why I didn't see it before. Harry Potter's so caught up in himself." She looked down at her knees again. "He even had the heart to tell me that he was meeting Hermione Granger later today."  
  
Cho looked as if ready to break into another fit of tears. "And Loony Lovegood," I added. "Granger and Lovegood were chatting about something today in Dervish and Banges. Who knows what they're up to. Just sniveling, they are. Using everyone else around them as pawns, so they can get what they want on the chessboard of life."  
  
Silent tears streaked down Cho's face now, and to my extreme surprise, she leaned her head against me and wiped her tears on my cloak, which was already sopping. Rain still poured down on us, as we sat there in silence. I was totally taken aback. How could someone be so emotional?  
  
"All I wanted to ask him was if Cedric mentioned me before he, well, died," Cho continued, now sobbing loudly. "And he says he doesn't want to talk about Cedric! I'll bet you he doesn't even care that Cedric died!" She added. "I'll bet he's glad, because he survived. More attention for the famous Harry Potter!"  
  
"Cedric was my favorite champion," I said, as an afterthought. "Potter should have been disqualified, no matter what rules there were." I left my sentence short and sweet.  
  
Cho lifted her head off my shoulders, and wiped her eyes. "You're not so bad, after all," she said, looking at me curiously. "I always thought you'd just be a jerk, you know?"  
  
"No offense taken," I said. She was right. I really was a jerk, but did she need to know that? No. I'd never had such an intelligent conversation in my life. No one had ever listened to what I said, and produced intelligent, civil, comments in return. This, of course, was taking into account the ineligible events of the Masquerade. Granger didn't know who I really was, then.  
  
"Sorry about that Quidditch match," she added. "I know you wanted to win and all." I waved a careless hand. "But I've seen you fly when you're not, err, distracted." She said carefully. "You're quite good."  
  
"Thanks," I said. Did this mean I had to compliment her back? "And you're very talented. Only female seeker there's been at Hogwarts for years!"  
  
She beamed at me, looking quite as shocked that we were talking as I felt. It was an odd sensation to have someone else smiling at you. Someone who wasn't behind a mask. Someone who knew who I was, and didn't care that I was from Slytherin. Someone that also wasn't Pansy Parkinson.  
  
There was an uncomfortable silence, as the rain ceased. "I just hate them all!" Cho exclaimed. "All Harry ever talks about is Hermione Granger!" She said. "Is there really anything that great about her?"  
  
I shook my head. It was best just to leave it at that.  
  
"Remember that whole 'Love Triangle' thing last year that Rita Skeeter invented?" I asked. Cho nodded, looking angry. "Well, did you ever see the way that Weasley looked at Krum? Or the way he watches Granger? I'd say that Potter was seeing her for fun or something, because Weasley's at Quidditch practice. And he can have anything he wants, because he's the famous Harry Potter."  
  
Cho suddenly looked horrorstruck. "A-and he p-probably only w-wanted me because I was C-C-Cedric's girlfriend!" Cho wailed, burying her face in my sopping cloak again. "He can have whatever he wants, can't he? Well, I'll show him. I don't need to put up with him. I can find someone better."  
  
I nodded, patting her on the back gingerly. "Yes, that's right," I said absently, feeling very stupid indeed. "You deserve better. Even Eloise Midgen shouldn't have the plight of being befallen with Potter."  
  
Cho giggled. She lifted her face up again, and looked me right in the eye. Her expression was warm, and the light from the sun, which was coming out from behind the clouds, was lighting up her face. She was very pretty. I felt butterflies squirming in my stomach. Her face suddenly seemed closer to mine.  
  
"What do you think, Draco Malfoy?" She asked with a smile. "I think you're kinder than Harry Potter? What do you say?"  
  
Yeah. Hell yeah.  
  
(A/N: Um, tee hee. Okay, that was what I was so eager to write. But as usual, I'm not satisfied with the way I wrote it. Grr, I'm never happy with what I write, but oh well. I hope you guys all enjoyed it!  
  
I've NEVER seen a Draco/Cho ship before, so to the best of my knowledge, this is original. If you have a D/C fic, or know of one, I'd love to read it! ^_^ Unrealistic? Yeah, a bit. But they do have some common bonds at the moment. They both are bearing a grudge against Harry and Hermione.  
  
Heh, aren't I evil, again? Were you all expecting it to be Hermione?  
  
Ah, well, I was in a nice mood. I didn't leave a big cliffie at the end of this chapter. But, however, I don't get to hand out any Clearly Clayr dollars! *Frowns* Ah, yes, but now you get to keep wondering what Circe and Snape are STILL up to.  
  
Okay, since this Author's Note was probably annoyingly long, I'll let you go. Tell me what you think of the Draco/Cho thing! I like it. I like it loads. Just not the way I wrote it. Okay, end of rambling.  
  
--Clayr) 


	13. Harsh Realizations

(A/N: Err. Sorry it's been so long. It's been a combination of writer's block, laziness, and a busy schedule that have prevented me from writing more. Now I just have a few notes.  
  
Yes, Circe is named after a character from mythology. Greek mythology, actually. Actually, she's inspired by the classic, "The Odyssey" and "The Iliad" which we read this year in English. And the scene with the animals when we first meet Circe isn't from Spirited Away; the scene in "The Odyssey" where Circe turns Odysseus's men into animals because they ate her food, inspired that part.  
  
Hmm.point me in the direction of those Draco/Cho fics! Glad to see some of you are so involved in the romances. But I am not much of a romance writer, so romance isn't the main focal point in this story. I don't think I'm especially good at romance, so I avoid my weakness. So if you, ahem, didn't like my D/C then just concentrate on the plot, as romance isn't the main issue here.  
  
Thank you.)  
  
Chapter Thirteen  
  
I closed my eyes and let the reminiscent visions fill my mind. The day had started off as any other had. I had felt alone and unappreciated, stupid and useless. Failure seemed to have settled in permanently, reminding me that I was a Malfoy. That was the only reason I was succeeding. I thought of how my father took care of me. He made sure I did well.  
  
In those low spirits I had forced myself out of the castle, alone. I had met Granger, and let her walk all over me with the truth. I had no real friends, and she knew that. Our own almost pleasant experience together had rendered this fresh in her sharp mind, and she now realized what I did. I had been lonely enough to jump into something, forgetting what I held dear in people. I hadn't stopped to consider who she was, and that told Granger that something was wrong. This probably delighted her, too.  
  
Then I had sulked off into the rain, alone and feeling worse than ever. Even Loony Lovegood seemed to have more real friends than I did. So I took myself for a lonely walk into the rain. And as drips of water poured down my face, and the sun hid behind the clouds, I found someone who understood me.  
  
I had to smile at the memory of Cho Chang leaning her head against me, sobbing like a maniac against my shoulder. We shared several common bonds, as it turned out. Our families had put enormous amounts of pressure upon the both of us.  
  
"My family is rather new to Britain," Cho said slowly. "And they want me to succeed. I'm their only child, you know," she added, looking at me. I knew how she felt. "And they want to have a good name. Father and mother are in the Ministry, and I can't go around disgracing them. I want to make mother and father proud, but it's hard sometimes. I'm supposed to be popular, and smart, and athletic, and everything else. And then Cedric told me I was perfect the way I was. He told me that it didn't matter what my parents thought. He didn't care about my faults, or anything."  
  
I didn't really know what to say over this, so I patted her lightly on the back, nodding along. What else is there to do when you have a girl in your arms, wailing about another boy that she obviously loved? Your options become limited, and so do your feelings. You feel sorry for her; yet have that awful urge to talk about something else. Jealousy would be a good word for that feeling.  
  
"I-" She said slowly. "I really loved him."  
  
Tears were welling up in her brown eyes, which were currently reflecting my sympathetic face. She pulled herself away from me, and blinked.  
  
"Have you ever been in love?"  
  
I shook my head.  
  
"You're very understanding, then." She added, with a slight smile.  
  
"I just understand your family problems," I said slowly. I wanted to let all my feelings pour out, then and there. I wanted to shout to the world that I, Draco Malfoy, could be something in this world. I wanted to tell Cho how father was overruling and controlling. I wanted to tell her how mother was partially insane. I wanted to tell her that I felt useless. But instead I said:  
  
"I feel a lot of pressure, too."  
  
My chance had left me. I had that opportunity to tell someone in this cruel world how I really felt, I could have lifted that great weight off my chest, and could have let go. I could have felt free, but I chose to keep it all inside. Why? Because I was afraid. I was afraid that father would find out I was talking behind his back. I was afraid Cho would laugh at me. I was afraid that I would laugh at myself. I was an awful coward, and respected myself so little that my self-conscious side had again overruled the side that wanted to escape.  
  
"I can see that honor means a lot to you, as it does in my family," she said. "And you're doing a good job keeping your head held high," she added. "Your mother and father should be proud," she smiled at me again. I could feel my cheeks burning. "You haven't tried to change yourself to fit in."  
  
She was wrong. I had changed every aspect of myself to fit into the Slytherin crowd. I had let my attitude evolve into something that humankind drew away from. I was an awful, scheming, prejudiced-  
  
"And you're nicer than I imagined."  
  
She leaned in, and kissed my cheek. I was quite surprised that she did not burn her lips, as my cheeks were such a deep red that one would think I had been thrown into boiling water, scorching them. She gave my hand a soft squeeze, and pulled herself off the ground, offering me a hand up.  
  
Not at all hesitantly, I took it, and was yanked to my feet.  
  
"Thanks," she said. "For listening."  
  
I smiled, like a big, stupid, idiot. "Hey, it was my pleasure."  
  
"Well," she said rather timidly. "Se you around."  
  
And I waved, as she walked off, looking slightly more cheerful than she had been before. Her black hair gleamed in the now-shining sunlight, as she trotted up the street, off to somewhere I had probably never thought of visiting. I sighed.  
  
Yes, it had been a good day. At about that time, I felt as if I could do the best wandless magic there was.  
  
~*~  
  
Feeling enlightened, I woke early the next Sunday, and tied a bed robe around myself before heading to the Slytherin Common Room. Warm fires were lit already, giving off warmth and a faith light, and to the east, the sun was rising from its dark bed. No one else was in the common room, leaving me alone, to settle into the couch.  
  
Even the grounds seemed empty. A light layer of frost graced the grass, soon to be melted by the sun. Nothing stirred at all, not even the lake. Not a ripple was visible on the glassy surface of water. The stationary trees cast their shadows onto the dimply lit and dewy grass, as smoke rose from Hagrid's cabin. It was all so serenely good, reflecting my current mood. It was funny how the weather seemed to do that, sometimes.  
  
I smiled to myself, and grabbed an old newspaper from the coffee table near the couch. The headline caught my attention straight away:  
  
MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN. MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS "RALLYING POINT" FOR OLD DEATH EATERS.  
  
I nearly dropped my paper on the spot, as the sunken faces of nine witches and wizards. Some leaned lazily against their frames, sneering up at me with malice. Below the frames of each witch or wizard's picture was their name and the crime that they had been imprisoned for.  
  
Right away, my eyes were drawn to a picture of a witch. Her face had leapt out at me the moment I had laid eyes upon the page. Her long, dark hair was unkempt and straggly in the picture, though I imagined it had once been thick and shining. She glared up at me through her dark, heavily lidded eyes, with an arrogant smile playing about her thin lips. She looked as if she had once retained vestiges of great looks, but Azkaban had seemed to take most of her beauty. But her thin, empty face was familiar. I had seen it somewhere before.  
  
It was mother's face, staring out at me from another person. I could not recall this person well, but I had seen one picture of her, for certain. This was mother's favorite sister, Bellatrix. "Bellatrix Lestrange, convicted for the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom," read the caption. Neville Longbottom's parents. They were probably incompetent fools like he was.  
  
I scanned the article quickly, and understood why mother had been so happy over the Christmas Holidays. This rally was being planned, and mother was happy, because her sister, Bellatrix, was finally being freed. Instead of escaping prison, like father, Bellatrix had taken the price that loyalty to the Dark Lord has. She did not weave her way through the loopholes in the government. She was loyal to the Dark Lord, through and through.  
  
Mother respected Bellatrix for this, I suddenly understood. She thought Bellatrix was a better servant to the Dark Lord, and father knew this. Mother did not care, either. She was on the verge of breaking point, anyway. What did it matter that her husband was a coward and a fool? It wasn't her fault, and she knew that he would have to pay. That cruel streak in her heart let him go about his life, knowing that one day he would pay his price to the Dark Lord.  
  
This had to be why father took everything out on us. It was mother's fault. Dratted mother and her loyalty to her blasted family. Mother acted as if she cared so much about me, but was that because I was family? Did she just want me to be faithful to her, and the rest of the Blacks? Did she want me to prove to father that he was just a coward, after all?  
  
I cursed loudly, and threw the newspaper back on the table without a second glance. I stormed up to the dormitory, where Crabbe ad Goyle were sleeping like the logs they really were. Still cursing under my breath, I pulled on my robes, and thundered out of the dormitory, amazed that I had not caused anyone to wake from their peaceful slumbering.  
  
They all slept without a care in the world. To the rest of Slytherin, they rested peacefully, under the pretense that the Dark Lord was back. Their parents were smugly wrapped up in their bribing occupations, resting comfortably in the Lord Voldemort's hand. They weren't being tugged at by their mother and father, between loyalty and riches, between what was wrong, and what was even more wrong.  
  
No one else was the child that was there to just hold up the family name. No one else had been born to possibly one day betray his father, as his mother probably wanted. No one was there just to support a man that was cowardly, even in the world of Dark Arts.  
  
I snatched my wand up from the table where I had left it, and thundered out of the common room, to roam the halls of Hogwarts. It was too early for breakfast, and I didn't want to be seen sitting in solitude at the Slytherin house table, looking like the poster child for loneliness and depression. But, in truth, that was what I was. I was lonely. I served no purpose.  
  
I took a quiet breath, as I nearly turned a corner that I was not familiar with, and heard the familiar, sweetly pleasant voice of Circe echoing throughout the hall. I stopped at the corner, with my body pressed against the cold, stone wall.  
  
"-What is the Lord Voldemort planning, Severus?" Circe's voice echoed. "He's broken out his faithful crowd, but for what?" She sounded desperate, for something. But for what? "What does he want everyone for? You've said he's drawn in his old crowd from across Europe, and he's obviously plotting for something."  
  
"I don't know!" Snape's harshly diabolical voice followed. "I'm not in the inner circle. I bribe the answers out of Lucius Malfoy, in return for giving his son Draco top marks."  
  
My heart sank, and I let myself slide down the wall, wanting to cry. That put the cherry on the awful cake that was my life. Was I that useless, that I didn't even earn my own top marks in Potions? I was so useless that even Snape; a Hogwarts professor was using me for something.  
  
And then there was Circe. She was probably trying to get something out of me, too. What did she want now? More of this information that she was supposedly seeking? For what reason was I her pawn on her chessboard of life?  
  
Everyone had a reason for keeping me around, it seemed. And it didn't benefit me. I got the Quidditch team the best broomsticks. I was supposed to bring honor to the Malfoy family name. I was supposed to show loyalty to mother, and Voldemort's true supporters. I was Snape's key to getting answers about the Dark Lord. Circe was probably being nice to me to get an answer of some sort. Was Cho Chang just using me so she could vent about Potter?  
  
Really, what was my purpose in life? There was nothing that I was truly good at. I thought I had Potions, at least. How wrong I was. Not even mother loved me for who I was. Mother just wanted me to be another number to show loyalty for her sister and family. I was probably using myself, too. What did I want to do with my life? Was there a purpose?  
  
"Mister Malfoy," a soft voice cut into my thoughts. "What are you doing here?"  
  
(A/N: Ah, yes. Poor Draco. And he was just starting to feel so good about himself, and then he took a second thought about Narcissa. It seems like everyone is using him!  
  
Well, um, sorry about all the repetition, there. All I think I did was repeat sentences over and over again. I bet you got sick of reading the end part. And how kind of me to leave you another cliffhanger!  
  
So what is old Circe up to? Or better yet, what is EVERYONE up to? And why does it all involve Draco? What is Draco going to do with himself now that he's realized the truth?  
  
You get all these things to think about, until I post some more! And I start volleyball practice on August 11th, so it may be longer between chapters, and stuff. I return to the prison that they call school on August 21st, so then expect even more delays. Volleyball and school at the same time. Uffda. Where did summer go?  
  
--Clayr) 


	14. Still Dreaming

(A/N: Sorry this has taken so long. I started school and volleyball a while back, and my time has been cut short for a variety of other reasons, such as work, being class president [damn the fundraising thing!], and my social life [yes, I do have one!]. So thanks for all your patience! Here's the next chapter, now!)  
  
Chapter Fourteen  
  
Chills ran up and down my spine, as the sound of the soft voice calling my name echoed around inside my empty head. Like a hot knife through butter, the words melted through my skull, penetrating my mind.  
  
"Mister Malfoy?"  
  
I could hear the voice still, but it seemed fuzzier, and distant. But that voice didn't matter. Someone, be it Circe or Snape, was there to tell me off, and ask me what I had heard. Then they could probably find a way to exploit me, for their own benefit. After all, that seemed to be my use in life. I was just another rich kid, whose parents could get what they wanted, through me.  
  
"What do you want?" I snapped hastily, just in time to look up at the politely bewildered face of Circe, who was knelt beside me, poised to give me a good shake, to bring me back to a physical reality. Her hazel green eyes were looking straight at me; I could see my reflection in them. Shards of black hair fell neatly into her face, and she wasted no time in brushing them back, before she righted herself and offered me a solitaire hand to take.  
  
Grudgingly, my own pale hand met hers, and she smoothly pulled me to my feet. I felt as if I could barely support myself. I turned my head down, to look straight at my feet. The pride that was left in me felt ashamed that I had been caught eavesdropping, on an Enchantress, at that. Her affairs were to be kept private.  
  
"Curiosity is a natural instinct, Mister Malfoy," Circe said smoothly, as if she had read my thoughts. "I do not blame you for hearing whatever you happened to hear, and will not punish you, or deduct points from your house."  
  
I had a distinct feeling she was saying this to make me feel better, because it was obvious that I was in an outwardly depressive mood. Very slowly, I turned my gaze upward, to meet Circe's. She looked unnaturally kind, unlike I had ever seen her before. The hardened look she usually bore in class, when she easily cursed us during training with wandless magic had disappeared, and she looked rather like my mother, on a good day.  
  
"So is it true, then?" I forced myself to ask, feeling suddenly as if one of the huge weights on my chest had been lifted. "Is it true that I'm only a pawn on the chessboard of life, there only so everyone can use me?"  
  
Circe pursed her lips for a moment, before she replied, carefully choosing her words. "It may seem that way, Mister Malfoy, but there is so much that you do not yet realize," she said slowly. I could tell she was not satisfied with the way she had worded her thoughts. "You don't quite know just how special you are, Draco."  
  
Thoughts of annoyance popped into my head as I thought of what came to mind when I heard the word, "Special." The Special Education classes such as Remedial Potions that Hogwarts offered popped into mind, straight away. Was I special in a way that implied that I was a mental case, and needed to be looked upon with caution, as the world saw Harry Potter? Was I a maniac?  
  
"Mister Malfoy," Circe said softly. "You have not comprehended me completely," her misty voice sent chills up my spine. "Sometimes, being different can be a good thing. And you have to realize that being loved comes from reasons other than being used. Your parents have raised you your whole life, Draco. They do love you, though you may not see it."  
  
Deep in Circe's emerald eyes, a dim spot seemed pronounced. She was not shining with that cruel streak that I had always seen any longer. She was just as lonely as I was. As Snape was. And she knew nothing about it. Nothing. She had never loved anyone. She only loved herself, and that had left her hollow.  
  
"And how would you know?" I snapped, before my brain could halt my vocal response. "Have you ever loved anyone?"  
  
The lighting seemed to flicker, as Circe's mouth opened the slightest bit. I supported my own weight and pulled myself to my feet, staring down at her, as she looked up at me, taken completely aback. It was as if the sound of my voice was still echoing off the walls, drumming a solemn beat into my ears.  
  
"Stop trying to fix me," I hissed, feeling anger rising in my chest like hot air. "I'm not broken."  
  
And without waiting for a response from Circe I turned on my heels and ran at full speed, as far away as I could get.  
  
~*~  
  
A warm ray of orange sunlight had cast itself upon me, warming my skin, and illuminating the scenery around me. The red-orange ball was starting to fall in the west, beyond the massive structure of the Hogwarts Castle. Off the glassy lake, the dimming lights cascaded over the waters, as the lights from the windows of Hogwarts flickered on. Near the Forbidden Forest, a slight breeze ruffled the leaves on the trees, as smoke rose from Hagrid's hut.  
  
Everything felt as if it had been pasted there so suddenly, as if it were ripped out from a picturesque magazine, telling you how life should have been. The scenery was telling me that I should be smiling, and sharing the evening with someone I loved; someone that cared for me in return. But what was wanted of my company? I was just used as a vent for someone to frustrate anger through. I was a pincushion for the sharp pins of life.  
  
I took in a breath of the warm, fresh air. Summer was nearing, as were the O.W.L. exams. And still, I had not studied. I had moped and wallowed in my sorrow, feeling sympathy for no one but my own sad self. And I had stunned myself, leaving myself both empty, wounded, and yet somehow, enlightened.  
  
Yesterday I cried.  
  
All the emotions inside of me, suppressed by childish fears, had broken the emotional damn inside of my chest, letting loose the flood. The remnants of painful memories had flashed so vividly before my eyes, as hot tears leaked from my eyes, flowing freely down my cheeks.  
  
In the solitude of the Quidditch field, long after practice was over, I, Draco Malfoy, had cried. Yet as foreign as it had seemed to me, I had expected the unexpected. The pain just seemed too real. No one was there to hold my hand, and no one was there to wipe away my tears. It was like it had always been, and always will be. Deep inside my mind, I kept a locked box with my darkest thoughts. Now I had tampered with the lock, and they were free. Free to pulse through my veins and make me feel awful.  
  
And the worst part was that I couldn't tell anyone about it. I couldn't tell Crabbe and Goyle that I felt sad. I couldn't tell Cho Chang that I knew that she only liked me because I listened to her once. I couldn't tell Hermione Granger that I had enjoyed her company for one night. I couldn't tell father that I wanted him to leave me alone. I couldn't tell mother, no matter how much I wanted to, that I loved her.  
  
Love was just a game that we all played. Love is for the benefit of oneself, rather than others. Mother was happy that she had a son, to carry on the name of Malfoy, as well as brining pride to the remnants of the Black family. Father had a son to carry on his name, in his separate, dark world.  
  
But what did I have?  
  
Someone had to get the short end of the stick. In this case, it was me.  
  
~*~  
  
"Very good Mister Malfoy," a raspy, hollow voice rapped into my morbid thoughts. "You've chopped your Newt bladders perfectly. They'll make for the perfect Elusion Potion!"  
  
I nodded, as the ancient fossil, Professor Marchbanks, inspected my Elusion Potion. Despite my lack of studying, the Potions exam, at least, was going quite well. The amber liquid in my cauldron was exactly as it was supposed to be, unlike the bubbling acid green smoke that was rising from Goyle's cauldron.  
  
The whole hall was alight with many colors of smoke and steam, as some people muttered to themselves under their breath. It was finally O.W.L. exam time, and I had found myself in the fuzzy reality of it all, absently chopping up ingredients to my potion like it was an everyday task. Near me, Hermione Granger mutter incessantly to herself, in a secure, arrogant sort of way. Her potion was just as amber as mine was; yet not the slightest bit of smoke was tapering from her pot.  
  
"Damn her," I muttered to myself, before adding the essence of Murlap. Even in an area that I was supposed to be good at, I would always be outdone.  
  
I let the now-golden liquid simmer lightly, before turning the wooden spoon I held three times in a clockwise circle, then removing it and letting the excess shining liquid drip from the edges.  
  
"Time!" Professor Marchbanks rasped moments later, and I heard frantic clutter amongst the students. Several were cursing under their breath. "Your potion should now be a golden fluid solution, and shall be tested later. Please return to your Common rooms, as the hall is cleared, and everything is taken into accordance."  
  
Great. Off to the common room to mope even more. It seemed that was all there was to my life these days.  
  
~*~  
  
Enveloped by a feigned darkness, I gasped for breath and felt around me for the solid ground. My fingertips felt the cold, hard stone floor, groping for something to grip. I felt as if I were about to slide off the face of the Earth, forever falling into a pit of darkness.  
  
A sharp gust of air took my little breath away, leaving me groping and gasping for fresh air, as my hands moved wildly around, trying desperately to grip the solid stone. As if I had hit a hidden button, the floor lurched, and I felt myself falling downward, into the endless darkness, being engulfed.  
  
My innards felt as if they were being played with by a child; being twisted and turned every which way, pulled at and groped at with rough hands. Everything was tense, and my hands could no longer try and secure a spot for me; there was nothing to be secure of. A lurching inside of my heart willed it to beat faster, as I felt like a bomb was ticking inside of me, getting closer and closer to the detonation time.  
  
Then with a sickening thud, I hit was I supposed was a floor, and my eyes fluttered open to see that there was a dim light illuminating a small table, which was surrounded with two chairs. Confused, I willed my muscles to support me enough to sit up, feeling hazed and sickened.  
  
I was sure I had imagined it, but suddenly, a blonde woman, tall and fair, had materialized in one of the chairs. Her face bore a loose, compassionate expression, as she looked solemnly at her feet, with a look of slight determination fixed in her hollow blue eyes. Whisps of hair fell in her face, shadowing it, making her look as if she were wasting away.  
  
"But Lucius," She whispered, and my eyes immediately flickered to the other side of the table, where a man was standing.  
  
He held his head high in the air, as a serpentine staff in his right hand wavered slowly in front of the woman's face. Sleek, blonde hair was neatly smoothed back, as if the hairs on his head dared not go out of place. A stern expression was plastered on his pointed, long face, as he pursed his thin lips and looked at the woman.  
  
"Narcissa, I have told you, the boy is turning out to be useful in other ways," he hissed, his low voice barely a whisper. "Incompetent though he is, I am glad that you kept him alive. But you have been proving to become more, and more of a nuisance, as the years roll by. You have-"  
  
"NO!"  
  
Poised to strike, on the end of my father's staff, the serpent suddenly fell limp. Two heads turned, directly at me, as my firm, rebellious voice echoed off the walls. The two faces, both taken aback, started to spin into a blur of colors, fading slowly away, into memory.  
  
"No," I whispered.  
  
What was past, now, and what was present?  
  
Everything was real. And I could not change the past, but I could certainly change the future.  
  
"Yes," the words rolled off my tongue pleasurably.  
  
And in the distance, I heard the faint click of a door unlocking.  
  
~*~  
  
(A/N: Sorry, I apologize for the piecey-ness of this chapter. I am still on a severe case of writer's block, and school, volleyball, friends, boyfriend, family, and other aspects of my life are taking my time, away.  
  
Well, what did you think of that chapter. It wasn't the way I wanted to write it, but I forced myself to get it done.  
  
Ahem, so, sorry it took so long, for you to only read repetition of things that you may have think already happened.  
  
Tell me what you think, anyway. Anyone have constructive criticism they can offer? That would be greatly appreciated!  
  
--Clayr) 


	15. Opened Doors

(A/N: Sorry it's been so long! I've been really busy lately, and have also had a severe case of writer's block. And I do hope I don't confuse you too much with this chapter! There's going to be a lot of information to take in! But here's the chapter, without further ado!)  
  
Chapter Fifteen  
  
Click.  
  
The door had unlocked, and suddenly everything around me vanished, except that very door at the end of the dark hallway. The image of my mother and father faded, as their voices seemed to muffle into the now engulfing silence. I could hear no screaming from behind the depths of the door. I could feel my own heart thumping madly against my ribcage, as the thrill of something new coursed through my veins rapidly.  
  
I closed my eyes, afraid to look at what new horrors or delights the opening of this door might now put before me. But even through my eyelids, there was no escaping the illuminating light that filtered through, every which way. A variety of colors surrounded by golden light danced across my eyelids, and I had the feeling that even if I did open my eyes, I would see the very same thing. Perhaps it was all in my imagination.  
  
But was I imagining the soft hands touching my face, and the mellifluous voice that whispered my name in my ear? Was everything a figment of my imagination? No, it couldn't be. Feeling myself being pulled to my feet, I decided that it was all real. I hadn't even realized that I was on the ground. Was my rationalizing coming to that? My brain couldn't tell the real from the surreal, and the ups from downs, rights from wrongs.  
  
"Draco!" The voice grew louder, and I opened my eyes. Suddenly, everything seemed so familiar, as I set my eyes upon Circe, who was standing in front of my, grasping my shoulders, her face depicting no outward emotions, as usual. Behind her, the light from the door gleamed bright, seeming to give off the illusion that she was the one doing the glowing, as light ricocheted off her skin, and gleamed off her ebony hair. A fire seemed to have been lit in her hazel green eyes. "Draco, do you know where you are?" She asked again, giving me a light shake into reality.  
  
"No," I said, quite honestly. "It's just-my dream. I've-"  
  
"Yes, you've been here before, I know," responded Circe, rather hastily. Her eyes flickered around, and for a second, I thought I glanced something short of wonder in them. "But Draco, this isn't really a dream," she lowered her voice, as if someone were listening to us, as if the few scrappy portraits on the battered walls had eyes and ears. "This is a reality, in a way. A bit of an alternate reality, so to speak."  
  
"But-"  
  
"Yes, I know, you don't think they exist." Circe finished, as if she had read her thoughts. "Like the worlds of Muggles and Wizardkind. The Muggles don't believe this world exists, just as you don't believe in this place. But even in our reality, people don't know this place exists, merely because very few people know of it. Only five know. Do you know who those five people are, Draco?"  
  
For the first time, a sort of desperate emotion crossed Circe's face. Her eyes narrowed, and she looked me straight in the eyes, as if she were trying to get me to realize something.  
  
"You," I said slowly, holding up one finger to keep count. "Me."  
  
Another finger.  
  
"My mother, my father."  
  
Two more.  
  
"Snape."  
  
That made five. And Circe nodded slowly, pushing her hair from her eyes.  
  
"And do you know what the connections are?" Circe said slowly. "Do you see why we're the only ones that know? Take your time, and think about it, Draco."  
  
It seemed to take an entire eternity for my mind to piece things together. What was the connecting link between everyone? Was it me? No. I was too young. Circe knew my father before I was born. And mother obviously, too. And Snape. And me. Everyone in this circle was connected to my father, Lucius Malfoy. But why?  
  
Father had gone to Circe in his quest to defy Lord Voldemort, in attempt to gain a powerful ally in what he wanted for a power to take for himself, so great that even Lord Voldemort could not muster. But Circe had been neutral, and my father must have been angry. So angry that mother found out, and in her loyalties to the Dark Lord, must have threatened him. with something.  
  
"Mister Malfoy," Circe said softly. "You're beginning to piece things together, quite well. But you're missing out on something crucial. Something crucial to the plot of your very life. Something that I must say I regret more than anything, even over the eternity that I've roamed the worlds. After your father failed to secure me as an ally, he came back just days before you were born, and I pitied him. I know not what possessed me to do it, but I gave him a . . . recipe . . . to help him in his quest for power. And this involved you. You see, your mother had chided your father for being greedy. He wanted revenge, as she had made a small show of humiliating him privately. And what better to take from Narcissa than her unborn son?"  
  
It took a moment for her words to settle in. Even before I was born, I was a pawn on my father's chessboard? It hardly seemed fair; I was deprived of my own life, even before it had begun. Yet Circe continued on, before everything was set in stone in my mind.  
  
"Do you recall my lessons on your other self? I showed your father how to separate your other self from you, Draco. And for that, he needed a Potions Master to help him. And that Potions master was Severus Snape. I spent several days discussing the risks with Snape, who had been planning to leave the Dark Side, as well. Having always led a life of being used, he was eager for power to be free, even if it did mean serving Lucius. And thus we devised a plan."  
  
"And something went wrong?" I asked heatedly.  
  
"No," Circe said softly. "Everything went right; too right. And I backed out. I decided it was best to let the men fight their own battles. I should not have meddled in human affairs for my own pleasure and fun. I am an Enchantress, Draco. These are not my wars, not my battles. But I've contributed greatly to your mess, and left things setting in gelatin, so to speak."  
  
I could feel the blood rising in my face. Circe had thought it would be fun to mess with the lives of humans. She had taken something; I wasn't quite certain what, away from me. But I knew that the little empty feeling inside of me was what she was responsible for. When I didn't feel complete, that was partially her fault. And my father's fault, more than anything.  
  
"Draco, we created an alternate world, to send your other consciences and souls to. We created a place, behind a curtain, that only we could reach unharmed. And when your father realized that I had backed out, he donated our creation to the Ministry to study, in hopes that they would unlock the secret of it all. He wanted them to find the way to get to your soul, and all the others that have passed before. It was a way of getting to the souls of the dead, where our spell sent yours.  
  
"But it has been returning to you," breathed Circe softly. I could feel her hot breath on my face, and she looked furious with herself. She looked like she was ending the world. "In your dreams, you've been getting to your missing pieces. You've been getting closer, and closer, and soon you'll reach it. And I beg of you, do not. Do not bring back what your father wants most dearly, to help him to power."  
  
"You want me to stay incomplete?" I hissed, backing away slowly. "You haven't lived your whole life as an incomplete human being. You have not wondered what was wrong with you, your family, your lack of friends, and your life. You haven't been feeling a hole inside your heart. You know nothing of what it's like to be human. If I want my missing pieces, I'll damn well have them, and there's nothing you can do to stop me."  
  
And before Circe could react, I stepped inside the doorway, and felt a warmth engulf me.  
  
~*~  
  
As I heard a door slamming behind me, it was as if I had cotton in my ears, and the sound had been dulled, and was not as loud as it should have been. And thought I had immersed myself into the abyss of light, the place that I found myself was quite the opposite, even in feeling.  
  
Stepping into the door of light, one would expect to feel warmth radiating off from every which direction. But on the contrary, it was cold, damp, and rather dark. The only faint source of light came from behind some dim, shabby sort of curtain, which seemed to be trying to shimmer, or make itself more obvious to me, the only occupant of the space (or alternate world) I had become instantaneously immersed in.  
  
Everything around me seemed to be made of crumbling stone, and looked as if it would fall to ashes if I touched it. In some areas, there were cobwebs, and I shuddered to think of the size of the spiders that could have possibly produced them. There was also an odd sort of dull blue mist around, which was starting to remind me of a gloomy fog. It danced around me eerily, and I got the feeling that I was at my own funeral.  
  
And I could sense the lurid aroma that death left lingering.  
  
Stepping forward, I could not hear the dull thud that should have echoed throughout in the silence. There was a distinctly muffled sound to my steps, as I stepped closer to the slightly gleaming curtain. But then there was a voice that reverberated with such crystal clarity that it sent chills down my spine. Its tone was familiar, yet not welcoming. Perhaps it was the words that the clear voice spoke. Perhaps that was what sent shivers through my body.  
  
"It's been a while, Draco," it said complacently. "My how you've grown without me."  
  
~*~  
  
(A/N: And yet I leave you with another cliffhanger! Don't you absolutely love it when I do that? Well, as I'm sure you do, I shall now ramble on about things you've probably heard before.  
  
This is another one of these things that I had perfectly plotted out in my mind, yet I just couldn't seem to get it to come out right. I can never put what I really want into words. Anyone have any tips on becoming a good descriptive writer? I'd love to hear them!  
  
Oh, and some imaginary Clearly Clayr dollars will go to the first person who can guess who is speaking to Draco now!  
  
--Clayr) 


End file.
